When Reality Fades
by JetGriffins89
Summary: Bridget Griffins has been having strange dreams lately, dreams that revolve around a fictional book series. What happens when an avid HP fan learns that her obsession isn't as fictional as she had thought? Not only that but she has to live through it.
1. Prologue: Not Again

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything from the Harry Potter franchise, nor do I intend to claim any ownership. So, everything other than my original characters, plot, and writing, as well as my interpretations of canon events and characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her minions. Yes: minions. Anyone as awesome as J.K.R. has to have minions._

_**Story Summary: **_Bridget Griffins is the first to admit that she's rather obsessed, but it's too much even for her when her obsession starts affecting her dreams as well as her waking hours. What happens when an avid HP fan finds out that her fandom isn't as fictional as she thought? And she has to live through it.

* * *

Prologue

Not Again

_"I believe in looking reality straight in the eye and denying it." -Garrison Keiller

* * *

_

God, she was tired. Bridget sat up, letting the covers fall back, and ignored the subtle chill of the quiet, Hawaiian night as she rested her forehead in her hands, elbows perched precariously on her knees. Her breathing was unsteady and her usually bright brown eyes were dull and tired, dark with uncertainty. All she wanted was a nice, full night's sleep without— without those—

"Not again," she muttered to herself as she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. "Not again," Bridget repeated, firmer than before. "I am _not _going crazy and I am _not _having these weird, _stupid _dreams." She ran shaking hands through her dark hair in a sorry attempt to calm herself. "This isn't real. It's all in my imagination."

But, as much as she was trying to deny it, this girl had been having strange dreams, very strange dreams that seemed to revolve around an extremely popular, but equally fictitious book series. _Everyone _knew that those books were made up, fake, make believe, totally and completely _not real_, which meant that her dreams were just a product of her overactive imagination.

Right?

Unfortunately, she was starting to doubt the fictional quality of those books and was, in turn, also starting to doubt her sanity. Because, really, who in their right mind consistently _dreamed _about characters and situations from a _book_? Every night? It was absolute lunacy and she was so tired.

Bridget Griffins let her head fall into her hands again and sighed. This sucked.

* * *

His life sucked.

The boy fished on his bedside table for his glasses, pushing them on with a tired sigh once he found them. He sat up, turned the lamp on, and picked up the well-worn book next to him, flipping it open with all the airs of someone who was used to the task, if not someone happy to be doing it. This was the third time in a week he'd been woken up and he was getting a little tired of reading _Flying with the Canons_ at three in the morning just because he couldn't get back to sleep.

His name was Harry Potter and he was a wizard, a very well-known wizard. Anyone who knew about his world would know about him and would automatically look to his forehead in search of the famous scar left by one Lord Voldemort, the same Dark wizard Harry happened to be currently trying to defeat. Anyone who knew _Harry _(the real one, that is, not the idolized, idealized version so prevalent in that world) would probably agree with the teenager's assessment— his life really did suck.

By now, Harry was rather used to waking up in the middle of the night because of his visions, but it would be nice if they'd at least manage to be _useful. _He had no clue why he was dreaming about this seemingly Muggle girl (it definitely wasn't for the obvious, normal teenage-boy reasons) or how she could be connected to either him or Voldemort.

He sighed again, running a hand through his hair; maybe he should owl Hermione.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Well, there's the first chapter of my novel-length Harry Potter fanfiction. It's a fan-meets-character fic based in Harry's sixth year, but during _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_; it'll be explained. It and its sequel are completely planned out, so—barring death, serious injury, or amnesia—there's almost no chance I'll ever abandon it. Granted, it might take a while to finish, but it will be finished.

Don't forget to review!

_**Next time in **_**When Reality Fades:**

_Wait. Maybe they were here for __her, __not him. Hermione had mentioned something about magical transportation being traceable during her many lectures on Hogwarts and Apparation, and Harry was almost positive that— Muggle or not— she had arrived magically. Besides, it wasn't like it would be difficult to find out where "that delinquent Potter boy" lived._

_She stared expectantly at him for another few seconds, while he thought, before saying, "Are you going to tell me what's happening? Or… um… get off me?"_

"_Oh. Right. Sorry." Harry swung his leg back over, kneeling next to her as he helped her into a sitting position._

"_And the situation?" she prompted briskly, brushing the dirt off her clothes._

"_I don't really, um, know, but we have to get out of here before they see us. My aunt's house is nearby; we should be able to make it there if we cut through this garden."_

"_Why?" she asked. Her eyebrows furrowed as she peered suspiciously at him. "Why should I go with you?"_


	2. Do You Believe in Magic?

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything from the Harry Potter franchise, nor do I intend to claim any ownership. So, everything other than my original characters, plot, and writing, as well as my interpretations of canon events and characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her minions. Yes: minions. Anyone as awesome as J.K.R. has to have minions._

**Author's Notes: **Fair warning, there is some swearing in this chapter. Nothing _really _bad, but probably enough to make one's mother take out the soap. There will probably be minor swearing in following chapters as well, so this disclaims all that follows. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter One

Do You Believe in Magic?

"_Everything you can imagine is real." -Pablo Picasso

* * *

_

Something was poking her. Something was poking her over and over and over. Bridget buried her head deeper in her arms, blocking out the light, and tried her best to ignore it. It didn't work; the poking continued. She shifted, gradually becoming aware of the irritated mumbling coming from her assailant.

"_Bridget!_" A particularly hard poke followed — right under her ribs.

"Ow!" Bridget emerged, glaring from between her arms. "What is it, Davy?"

"Don't call me that," her cousin snapped. He gave her a Look over his glasses. "We're _supposed _to be studying, Bridget, not sleeping."

It was a common enough scolding, so Bridget settled back down, yawning. "You know I don't study. _I _pretend to pay attention while _you _study. It's what we do. Don't mess with tradition."

There was a sigh, but she had a blessed five minutes of silence to drift back off to sleep before, "Bridget?" She decided to ignore him; sometimes it was for the best. He sighed again, softer this time. "Jet?"

Oh, boy. Cautiously, moving as if she expected to have to flee, Bridget sat up. "You never call me that."

"Well, it's a ridiculous nickname."

David pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Bridget gave him a suspicious look — he only did that when he was too nervous or upset to pay attention to what he was doing and it was definitely not a good sign.

"That's not what I mean," she said in reply, "and you know it."

Well, he did seem to know _something_, pulling nervously at his sweater sleeve as he steadfastly refused to meet her eyes. Finally, he sighed and turned his somber blue eyes to her. Bridget's stomach dropped. She reached for her backpack and pulled it onto her lap. The conversation was quickly headed in a direction Bridget didn't think she was going to like very much.

"Bridget, are you okay?"

She briefly looked up from packing her things. He was staring intently at her, frowning. Bridget dropped her eyes. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," David said firmly in a voice he often used when he was trying to be the protective big brother type. "You're not sleeping enough, for one thing."

"I'm a functioning insomniac," she said defensively, glaring at him. "I _never _sleep enough."

"You're not eat..."

Her breath hitched and she suddenly felt like someone had taken a bat to her head, pain radiating outwards from the base of her skull. Bridget dropped her head between her knees, taking slow, deep breaths as she tried to squelch the heavy weight of panic settling in her stomach.

Keep calm. Breathe in. Breathe out. Fudge, it was getting worse.

The voice at the edge of her mind, the one she'd been trying to ignore, sharpened into clarity. "... foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over."

No. Focus elsewhere. Calm, deep breaths. In. And out.

"All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail — courage you will f —"

Crap. No. _No. _A flash of green and Bridget tore herself away. She pushed her chair away from the table, flinching away at the screeching sound.

"I've gotta go," she muttered. Even Bridget could hear the desperation in her voice, and she winced.

David stared — mouth open and eyes wide, pen hanging loosely from his fingers — as Bridget stumbled out of her seat. She nearly tripped over the table in her rush to leave, bruising her hip painfully. Bridget barely noticed.

She ran a hand through her ponytail, frowning to herself. She was going crazy. She was going absolutely bonkers and there wasn't a damn thing she could —

"Bridget!" David called. She could hear him extricating himself from his corner seat, following her.

"Later!"

Bridget was jerked back and almost lost her footing, scrabbling at the ground until her sneakers found purchase. He pulled her up by her backpack handle until she was standing straight, but he didn't seem keen on letting her go. Her cousin may be a bookworm, but the boy was every inch the wide receiver. It really was unfair. He held her by her wrist and spun her around to face him, proving how much he had to be worried, even if she was refusing to look him in the eyes. David _never _manhandled her.

"Tell me what's wrong," he asked softly, practically begging.

"Later, Davy, really." And she meant it. Bridget couldn't lie to him, anyways; they'd known each other too long to not know each other's tells. "I have to meet Nate and Xav."

His jaw tightened, making her frown. Bridget had never understood why he didn't like the boys or why they didn't seem to like Davy or Ben, who was her cousin's best friend and practically part of the family, in return. It wasn't very often that the two flew over from England, but their infrequent visits could be painful. It was like she was constantly mediating some unknown argument between the two factions. The almost regular glaring stand-offs were a little annoying and very confusing for someone stuck in the middle, clueless.

"Later?" he repeated in a tight voice.

She nodded, trying to be reassuring. "Later."

He rubbing his face with his left hand and sighed. "Fine," he finally said.

Bridget pulled out of his now-loose grip and rushed out the door before he could change his mind. Still worried about her increasing loss of sanity, she skipped down the front steps and walked straight into—

"_Nate._"

She threw her arms around the familiar man's neck, almost knocking him over with the force as he took an alarmed step backwards. A moment later he wrapped his arms securely around her waist, holding her tightly against his body. She let out a shaky, relieved breath; Bridget had known Nate Wilde her entire life and no one could make her feel safer, not even David.

"Biddy?" he asked in a low, concerned voice.

She immediately let go, cheeks burning, and he set her back on the ground. Over her head, Nate and Xavier exchanged looks they obviously thought she wouldn't notice. Wonderful, now she had them worried, too.

Nate cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. "Love, are you okay?"

"I'm _fine," _she said. Her voice came out harsher than she'd intended, judging from the way Nate's eyebrows almost disappeared under his untidy fringe. Bridget hiked her bag up, letting her eyes drop briefly before she looked back up at them. "Can we go now?"

Xavier nodded and gave her his normal, easy grin. "Of course."

He draped an arm over her shoulders, easily guiding her across the yard to their rental. He was bent over slightly, about level with her, and his gray eyes were positively sparkling with mischief. She resisted the urge to ask what in the world he was up to now; it would ruin his devious plot.

"Now, love," he continued in a low, confidential tone, "have I ever told you about the time Nate here got caught in the girls' loo wearing only his pants?"

Nate let out a strangled noise, apparently choking on air, and Bridget tried not to smile too widely. "It was _your _fault," he said hotly.

"I would _never,"_ Xavier defended in a mock-outraged tone. "Biddy, would _I _— ?"

"Of course you would, but I still want to hear the story."

"Hm." He gave her a searching look that she returned gravely. Xavier opened her door before jumping into the backseat of the convertible. "Well, it all started the Tuesday after Christmas hols in third year."

"Can we not tell this story?" Nate asked plaintively.

"But Biddy wants to hear it."

Nate almost shoved the key into the ignition. The story must be good. "Exactly."

"Aw, come on, Nate." She smiled reassuringly, waiting until his hazel eyes met hers and she could coax out a grin. "Besides, whatever _I _could imagine is bound to be ten times worse than the truth." Xav snorted. "Or not."

Bridget settled back into the passenger seat, buckling the belt. At least they weren't looking at her like she was going to break.... Well, any more than usual.

_

* * *

_

_CRACK!_

Harry nearly dove back into the alley as his instincts went off, blaring loudly. Little Whinging was a quiet, utterly Muggle neighborhood and loud, possibly magical noises were not common, even with the Boy-Who-Lived living in close-by (temporarily empty) Number 4, Privet Drive.

He pulled out his wand, wondering if he should be obvious about it and hold the wand at the ready or just have it at hand. He peered down the lit, very empty street. When nothing jumped out at him, Harry turned around and —

"What the...?"

For a minute, Harry just stared, wand still half-raised; he _knew _the pavement had been empty a moment earlier. Without realizing it, he let his eyes trailed down the unconscious girl's body. She seemed to be around his age, maybe a bit younger and was very, er, very attractive with long, dark hair that contrasted rather nicely with her fair skin. She was wearing Muggle clothes — jeans, a jumper, and trainers — but, if he went by past experience, her unexpected arrival was anything but a Muggle one. Muggles did not normally appear out of thin air.

He bent over, kneeling next to her, and brushed the hair out of her face, trying to place where he'd seen her before. At Hogwarts, maybe, if she was in another House or one of the lower years. She might even be one of Ginny's friends, but none of that explained why she would be in Little Whinging.

Several loud pops went off, sounding like the firecrackers Dudley had gotten hold of last summer and four men — wizards — appeared farther down the road. Instinctively, Harry ducked lower, glad that he was in the shadows, and watched. One of the men turned towards them, light reflecting off his blond hair.

Shite. Lucius Malfoy.

Harry pulled the girl into a nearby yard, behind the wall, as quickly as he could manage. He spent a couple of minutes watching the probable Death Eaters do a whole lot of... nothing.

Great.

The girl groaned softly, and Harry spun around. Her face twisted into a pained grimace as she pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead.

"Crud," she muttered. "What the hell have I—?"

Before he entirely realized what he was doing, Harry was straddling her with his hand covering her mouth. Her eyes shot open, pupils dilating into large circles, and she twisted her hips sharply, nearly dislodging Harry. The girl was surprisingly strong; it took several minutes for Harry to regain his advantage and pin her under him.

"Shh... I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered quietly, if a bit out of breath. He sure hoped she'd buy it; there was no way he'd be able to keep her under control forever, "but the men out there might." She reluctantly stopped struggling, although she still looked frightened and more than a little confused. "Now will you stay quiet?"

After a moment, she nodded and Harry removed his hand.

"What's going on?" she said in a soft voice even quieter than Harry had used. She had a strange accent he couldn't quite place, American perhaps. That ruled out Hogwarts. He shook his head slightly, clearing his thoughts (why in Merlin's name was he worrying about her _accent_ of all things?) and tried to focus on the —

"Um... are you okay?" she asked hesitantly, giving him a concerned look.

"Yeah, fine," he muttered.

Wait. Maybe they were here for _her, _not him. Hermione had mentioned something about magical transportation being traceable during her many lectures on Hogwarts and Apparation, and Harry was almost positive that — Muggle or not — she had arrived magically. Besides, it wasn't like it would be difficult to find out where "that delinquent Potter boy" lived.

She stared expectantly at him for another few seconds, while he thought, before saying, "Are you going to tell me what's happening? Or… um… get off me?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Harry swung his leg back over, kneeling next to her as he helped her into a sitting position.

"And the situation?" she prompted briskly, brushing the dirt and grass off her clothes.

"I don't really, um, know, but we have to get out of here before they see us. My aunt's house is nearby; we should be able to make it there if we cut through this garden."

"Why?" she asked. Her eyebrows furrowed as she peered suspiciously at him. "Why should I go with you?"

'_Why should I trust you?' _was the even more obvious question and it had Harry gaping for a moment. _No one _had ever asked him 'why?' before; they just... did what he said.

"Because..." Um. "The man out there has tried to kill me before, but he doesn't know I'm here." The truth seemed to be working; she was giving him a much less suspicious glare. "And if he's after you instead of me... he's not going to be," he needed a good word for it, "nice about it." Close enough.

The girl cocked her head, examining his face for something and finally nodded. "All right, then. I'm Jet," there was a short pause, "or Bridget."

"Jet?"

"It's a nickname. I wanted — " she cut herself off, shaking her head. "Doesn't matter. Just call me Bridget."

"Right. I'm Harry."

She gave him a bright smile that seemed completely out of place considering the situation and her previous attitude towards him. "Pleased to meet you, Harry."

"Uh, same here. Follow me."

The girl nodded and Harry turned away, making his way through the property as quietly (and quickly) as possible. He really, _really _didn't want to have to duel someone or get Dumbledore to bail him out of jail for trespassing. Unfortunately, there was a high fence at the back, separating the two properties. Harry was wondering how the hell he was going to get Bridget over it when the girl pulled herself onto a nearby shed and vaulted over the top of the fence, landing softly on the other side.

Well, if she could do it...

With a grunt, Harry swung himself onto the same shed and pulled himself over the fence. He landed in the other yard with much less grace. Bridget helped pull him onto his feet and then motioned for him to lead the way.

They'd just stepped onto the surprisingly dark street when there was a loud shout and a stunner shot towards them. Harry pulled her behind him, almost simultaneously putting up a basic— thankfully strong — shield charm just as the man's spell reached them. He let the shield drop long enough to petrify the wizard who had seen them, but it wasn't fast enough because the next thing he knew, Harry was dueling Malfoy and a third wizard he didn't recognize.

The final wizard grabbed Bridget, who let out a startled shout, and Harry turned just in time to see her being dragged away. A _stupefy _was halfway out of his mouth when she did something unexpected by everyone — including the girl herself if Harry went by her shocked expression.

She'd managed to somehow elbow her attacker in the — well, somewhere he'd never want to be elbowed. Ever. The man let go of her and doubled over in pain. She fell back to the ground and spun around to punch him in the jaw, knocking him out cold and leaving everyone else in a shocked silence. Bridget looked back up from the man to —

"_Harry!"_

He spun around to face Lucius Malfoy. He was grinning coldly, wand pointed straight at Harry's heart. Malfoy flicked his wand, wrenching Harry's out of his grip and into the darkness behind him. Harry backed away slowly, cautiously, wondering what the hell he should do now that he was unarmed and cornered. Then Malfoy and the other man were flying backwards and Harry didn't have to worry about it anymore.

Cautiously, he turned around. It looked like Bridget didn't need as much protection as he'd thought. She was still on the ground, but now she had his wand in her outstretched hand. She stared blankly at the spot where Malfoy had been standing, eyes wide. For once, the girl had saved _him._

Huh. That was unusual.

Harry walked up to her with slow, deliberate steps, trying not to startle her too badly, and knelt down. He gently pulled his wand out of her loose grip and pocketed it, which managed to shake her out of her shock. Bridget glanced, wide-eyed, at her now empty hand and back to where Malfoy had been before promptly launching herself at Harry.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my _God," _she muttered as she gripped him tightly.

He tried to calm her down again with almost painful awkwardness, patting her on the back like he'd seen Mrs. Weasley do before. "It's okay," he muttered just as ineptly as he felt. "We have to go now, before they wake up." Harry felt her nod against his shoulder, but she still didn't move. "Um, you're going to have to let go of me."

Bridget reluctantly loosened her grip, then released him, but latched back onto his arm as soon as they were both standing. He got to Privet Drive in record time, somehow avoiding anyone who'd make assumptions about the girl clinging to his side. Harry had never been more grateful that the Dursleys weren't home.

He unlocked the door and sat her down on the couch, going straight to the kitchen to get her a glass of water... and buy himself some time. He didn't really know what to do next; usually he was rescued at the last moment. He had never had to deal with the aftermath before.

Well, when in doubt he would usually ask Ron and Hermione, but this time it was easy to figure out what they would say: write to Dumbledore. Harry scribbled out a note explaining exactly what had happened and gave it to Hedwig. That problem solved, he retrieved the water and returned to the near-catatonic girl.

"Are you okay?" he asked, handing her the water. She took a long sip before answering.

"Er, yeah. I'm fine, I guess. You?"

"I'm okay." There was a short pause. "Do you know how you got here?"

"No. I was with my friends when I just — I dunno, the next thing I remember is waking up, um, under you. Crap, this can_not _be happening to me." She didn't sound as out of it as before, but she was starting to panic. Bridget dropped her head in her hands, startling him (and where the _hell _did that water glass go?) "Jesus _Christ. _What just _happened?"_

Harry wasn't sure whether or not she was actually expecting an answer, so he said, "We were attacked by wizards. I think they wanted you, but they could have been after me."

Bridget had looked up at the word "wizards" — he was sure he'd said it before — and now she looked like she was going to cry. Harry stopped talking, staring at her. Bloody _hell. _She was the girl from his dreams. Harry winced; he was never going to repeat that out loud.

"What?" she whispered in an incredulous voice, eyes wide. "_Wizards? _Wait. Oh God, you're _the _Harry Potter?" She didn't bother to wait for an answer and leaned back, eyes closed. She rubbed her forehead with both hands. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I've completely lost my mind. This can't be happening to me; it's not even _real. _How can something _imaginary _be happening to me? This doesn't make any _sense _— "

"Um, Bridget?" Harry interrupted.

"Yes?" she said, still sounding like she was about to cry. He really hoped she didn't. Harry didn't know how to deal with a crying girl; hell, he didn't really know how to deal with girls in any mood. Well, other than Ginny or Hermione, and even then he screwed up more often than not.

"Right. Bridget, do you believe in magic?"

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Well, there's chapter on. Most of the confusion is, thankfully, explained in the next chapter. Review, please. All flames will be offered to my God in worship and what-not. So, that's it. Bye.

Thanks to _**Tortall gal **_for the review.

_**Next chapter in **_**When Reality Fades:**

_White. Bridget opened her eyes and saw white. That fact meant one of three things: she was in Hogwarts' Hospital Wing; she had lost her mind and was in a nice, padded room; or she was dead. Personally, she thought the first option was the most pleasant. However, if the third option was true, it meant she wasn't a complete loon. It was pretty much a toss-up._

"_Ah, Miss Griffins, you're finally awake. You are in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Well. That answered that question. "Do you remember what happened?"_

"_I've gone mad," Bridget responded in a flat voice. "Obviously."_


	3. Are You Mad?

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything from the Harry Potter franchise, nor do I intend to claim any ownership. So, everything other than my original characters, plot, and writing, as well as my interpretations of canon events and characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her minions. Yes: minions. Anyone as awesome as J.K.R. has to have minions.

* * *

_

Chapter Two

Are You Mad?

"_Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." –George Santayana _

* * *

Bridget sighed, satisfied; she was perfectly, unusually comfortable. It was the first time in a long while she had woken up feeling rested and safe. Besides — she burrowed deeper into her pillow — it was very warm. There was no way in heaven or hell she was going to voluntarily get up.

Then the pillow moved.

Her eyes snapped open. This wasn't her room and she was curled up against a body, a decidedly _male _body. Crud. What the _hell _had happened? Her eyes widened as everything came rushing back to her. Oh _crud._

Bridget attempted to sit up without waking Harry — unwilling to deal with him while feeling so flustered — but his arm was wrapped around her middle and he seemed just as reluctant to let her go as she was to wake him. After a few minutes of careful maneuvering, astonishing silence and a bright red face, she managed to extricate herself successfully from Harry's surprisingly strong grip.

It really was a shame it was all for nothing.

There was a man dozing in the chair next to the couch. Bridget gasped loudly, startling the man awake, and stumbled back onto the couch and Harry. He jerked awake and shot to his feet, wand pointed at the figure on the floor as Bridget scrambled up after him. She clung to Harry's free arm, hiding behind him in a manner she would have normally considered pathetic.

Harry blinked at the man, glasses askew and still half-asleep. His eyes widened as he woke, and his mouth dropped open. "_Professor Lupin?"_

Bridget removed her face from behind Harry's shoulder, peering down at the sheepishly smiling man curiously. He looked younger than she had imagined Remus Lupin would be — probably because of the movies — and seemed friendly with a nice smile and slightly mussed gray-streaked brown hair. His clothes' state had been highly exaggerated. Although a bit on the well-used side, they were neat, well-kept and matched.

"Hello, Harry," Lupin said from the floor. "It's nice to see you again."

"Erm… hello, Professor," Harry replied sheepishly, lowering his wand. "Sorry 'bout that."

Lupin stood up and brushed himself off.

"That is quite all right," he said pleasantly. "It's entirely my fault; I shouldn't have dozed off." He focused on Bridget, smiling down at her as he extended his hand. "Hello, I'm Remus Lupin."

"Um… hi," Bridget greeted hesitantly. "I'm Jet — Bridget — Griffins."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said. He looked curiously between Harry and Bridget. "I understand Harry… found you?" he finally asked.

"Yes. Don't know how I got there — here, either."

Remus frowned thoughtfully. "Well, Dumbledore probably has a better idea." He held out a worn book. "This is a Portkey to Hogsmeade. We'll walk to Hogwarts from there. Just find a place to hold."

Bridget gripped the corner of the book and once Harry had grabbed it as well, Lupin tapped it sharply with his wand. There was a sudden pull in her stomach that reminded her of the feeling one gets on roller coasters, the one when your innards are floating in mid-air right before they plunge somewhere around your knees. It lasted only one dizzying moment, the next she was lying on her back staring at a gray sky and the two worried faces hovering above her.

"Are you okay?" Remus asked.

Bridget blinked distractedly as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight.

"Um, yeah, I'm fine." She sat up, but the world started to spin around her again and she fell back down to the ground. "Okay, maybe not so fine." Her head was pounding and she closed her eyes. "Actually, I think I'm in a right bad state."

"Has this been happening often recently or do you think it might be the Portkey?" Remus helped her into an upright position, although she was still leaning on him rather heavily. "Do you normally get motion sick?"

"I don't get motion sick, never have." She shook her head, stopped because it made her feel like someone was sticking long, hot needles in her brain. "No, it's not the Portkey. It should pass soon enough; I've been a little… off recently."

"Can you stand up?" he asked.

Bridget nodded reluctantly (at least it didn't hurt this time) and cautiously moved away from Remus's steadying form. She grinned triumphantly, ignoring the fact that she was still swaying and her head seemed to be spinning. Of course, that was when her eyes rolled up to the back of her head and she fell to the ground in a dead faint.

* * *

Harry's arms automatically shot forward to catch the unconscious girl before she hit the ground. He, despite his gallant intentions, stumbled under the added weight and almost fell himself. He quickly regained his balance and, with an embarrassed smile, swept her up so she was cradled against his chest.

"We have to get to the castle," Lupin said. He had his wand out and started up the short path to Hogwarts's front gate.

Harry followed as quickly as he could while carrying the strange girl. Something was going on and he was determined to find out exactly what it was.

"Professor?" Harry called as soon as he had caught up.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Who is she?"

Lupin paused so briefly Harry was only half sure he'd seen it before he continued, if anything, quicker than before. "I don't know," he said.

"But," Harry had a hard time recognizing when one should just let it go, "you looked shocked when you first saw her, like you did when you first saw me on the train."

This time Lupin sighed in response. "She reminds me of a girl I once knew, a friend of your father's. The resemblance was unsettling to say the least. She had… disappeared shortly after our first year." He frowned. "We never learned what happened to her."

"Who — ?"

"Remus, my boy, how wonderful to see you again," Harry stopped short and almost collided with Lupin, "and Harry. I trust that your journey was," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled annoyingly as he gazed at the disheveled duo, "uneventful. Now," he clapped his hands together, "where is our esteemed guest?"

Lupin stepped to the side so Dumbledore could see what (or whom) Harry was carrying. The Headmaster's eyes widened fractionally (a sign of surprise that Harry had never seen on him before), but the smile stayed firmly in place.

"Let us take her to Madam Pomfrey then, shall we? Miss. Griffins will be patched up soon enough."

They traveled in silence with Dumbledore leading and Lupin hovering near Harry and Bridget. Harry, even though he did believe Lupin, had a nagging feeling — one that, astonishingly enough, sounded exactly like Hermione — that there was something more to all of this. This girl's sudden appearance was more important than what Lupin and Dumbledore were telling him; he just wondered what it was.

* * *

White. Bridget opened her eyes and saw white. That fact meant one of three things: she was in Hogwarts' Hospital Wing; she had lost her mind and was in a nice, padded room; or she was dead. Personally, she thought the first option was the most pleasant. However, if the third option was true, it meant she wasn't a complete loon. It was pretty much a toss-up.

"Ah, Miss Griffins, you're finally awake. You are in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Well. That answered that question. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I've gone mad," Bridget responded in a flat voice. "Obviously."

The formidable matron came into view. She was smiling in an incredibly frustrating way. "No, dear, you haven't. You merely fainted. Now sit up; you have to drink this." She pushed a cup into Bridget's hands and bustled out of the room, leaving the girl staring warily at the bubbling drink. It was probably best to just get it over with. She lifted the cup to her lips.

It was good. It was _really _good. Bridget didn't know what she had been expecting, but it had _not _been this. _This _was delicious. This was smooth and sweet and… gone. She glared at the empty cup. Dang.

She placed the cup on the bedside table and began planning her (appropriately daring and ingenious) escape when she felt a sharp jolt down her spine. It was followed by tingling warmth spreading until it was concentrated in her outstretched hands.

"Miss Griffins?"

Bridget jumped and her glass exploded a moment later. Madam Pomfrey rushed forward, repaired the glass, and efficiently examined her for any cuts, tutting under her breath the entire time.

"Professor Dumbledore is here. Are you ready to speak with him?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "It's not as if I have much of a choice."

"I'll send him in then."

She left and a few moments later an older man with long white hair and amused blue eyes entered. She gulped. Dear Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

"Good afternoon, Miss Griffins. I had not expected you to arrive so soon," he said pleasantly, taking a seat in the chair next to her bed. "Not for another two years, in fact."

"Oh, sorry about that," she mumbled apologetically. She looked back at Dumbledore. "Wait, _what?_"

* * *

"_What?" _Harry was staring, open-mouthed at his former professor.

"Yes. She was transported here using an Aetuslimen. They're very rare, very powerful, and _very _difficult to use."

He still didn't get it. "She's not from this _time?"_

"Not necessarily," Lupin replied slowly. "It is possible that she is from this time and was merely… misplaced until she was recalled, but that is unlikely. There are different types of Aetuslimen. They can be permanent and the subject is left whenever he or she is sent, or temporary. If it is temporary, it can have a timed activation that is pre-set or require physical activation to return the subject to the time of origin or time of destination."

Harry shook his head, still visibly confused, and spoke again, "Wait, she's from the _future?_"

Lupin smiled back. He seemed amused by Harry's bewilderment, whereas Harry just had a headache. He still wasn't used to everything magic could do, but time travel was supposed to be nearly impossible.

"That's what it looks like."

"Oh." Harry leaned back and rubbed his face before he looked up at Lupin again. "But… why is she here?"

* * *

"Professor," Bridget interrupted in a tired voice, "you've told me things that I already knew, things that are so new they boggle my mind, and things that _somehow _don't have a category (no idea how _that _happened), but you still haven't answered my question. _Why _am I here?"

"I do not know."

"You _don't know_?" Bridget repeated incredulously. "How can you… how can you _not _know? You're, like, a genius or something. Besides, you've already told me that you expected me; whether I'm early, late, or right on time, there has to be a reason for _that_."

"My dear, you should know that having a high intelligence level does not mean that one knows everything."

Bridget narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You aren't going to tell me squat, are you?" Dumbledore just kept smiling. "Whatever. There's nothing I can do about that now, I suppose. But, don't think I'm not going to find out eventually; I'm told I can be quite stubborn." She sighed. "So, what am I to do now that I'm here?"

* * *

"Bridget will attend Hogwarts with you. To help her catch up, Dumbledore is going to hire a tutor and she'll take private classes instead of the normal sixth year coursework. Whatever knowledge she had of the upcoming years will be suppressed. As the events occur or — depending on if she changes things or not — don't occur, she will regain knowledge connected to that event."

Harry sat in a shocked silence. Apparently, for once he'd been right: she was important and there was a reason behind her sudden appearance. He still hadn't _really _been told what it was, though. There was another thing that was nagging him (once again in a voice eerily like Hermione's).

"Why didn't she know she was a witch?"

* * *

"I don't get how I never noticed I was a witch. With my obsessive tendencies, I think I would've realized if anything out of the ordinary happened to me, especially anything magi — " God she was an idiot. An _oblivious _idiot, at that. "Nevermind."

"Your magic had been suppressed. The potion you took released that magic in the safest way possible. Not allowing for the natural release of your magic caused you to be ill, worsening when you didn't start your magical training on time. Combined with your… determined personality, had allowed you to override some of the barriers put in place for your protection. I understand that you made it quite difficult for your family to keep your — and their abilities — hidden."

Bridget smirked; she could imagine that. In fact, her life made a heck of a lot more sense now.

"After Harry leaves his relatives' house, you will stay with him and the Weasley family at the Burrow. Until then you will stay at Hogwarts under Remus's guardianship. You may tell the Weasley family, Miss Granger, and Mr. Black of your true situation. Mr. Lupin, Professor McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey have already been informed, as has Harry.

"But, you will tell everyone else that you are transferring here as my great-great niece. It's well known that Amelia left for America shortly after Grindlewald. Miss Granger should be able to help you form a proper backstory and if you have any questions, you may ask me."

Bridget put her head in her hands. This whole thing was giving her a huge headache and it was terribly confusing. It all sounded like a cliché fanfic. Dear Lord, maybe she _was _insane.

"You will also attend the Quidditch World Cup with them," Dumbledore continued. "Mr. Krum is supposed to be very good this year; he might even bring Bulgaria a victory against Ireland. It's truly a shame England was eliminated so early on."

Wait. Bridget's head shot up, eyes wide. "Bulgaria?" she squeaked. "Exactly _what _year is Harry in?" He couldn't be younger than her; there was no way he was only fourteen.

"His sixth, of course." What? "Now we must suppress those memories of yours. If at any time you feel you have sufficient reason to restore those memories, see me immediately. Is that understood?"

"Yes, but Professor — "

"Uncle Albus," he interrupted smoothly. "We can't have my niece addressing me so formally."

Fine.

"Yes, well, Uncle Albus, as far as I know Harry went to the World Cup in his fourth year, not his sixth." She sounded just as confused as she felt.

"Ah, yes. Ms. Rowling made a few minor changes, including altering the timeline to make it more literally appealing."

"Okay," Bridget began slowly, "so whatever happened in Harry's fourth year in the books will happen in his sixth year in, um, real life?"

Dumbledore smiled beatifically. "Precisely."

"Oh." She sighed. "Alright, then. I suppose."

But she realized exactly what Harry's fourth — sixth year had entailed. She could change it all: Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore… they didn't have to die. The Headmaster's spell stopped Bridget in her tracks. She couldn't remember what she had been planning to say.

Crud. She frowned, sulking; this happened _way _too often. Her memory just sucked.

"Now that we've finished with the formalities," Dumbledore said, unaware of her inner turmoil, "I believe you haven't eaten yet?"

"Um… no."

"Then I will escort you to the Great Hall where you can have breakfast, but I'm afraid I have some urgent business to take care of immediately. Remus and Harry will meet you there."

She sighed, trying her best not to give into the urge to pout like a small child. "Oh, fine."

* * *

She had been out of the Hospital Wing for only a few moments when, after walking around the corner, Bridget walked straight into a wall. She realized that it was not, in fact, a wall only when two hands prevented her from toppling backwards onto the floor.

Well. It had _felt _like a wall.

"Thanks," she muttered in an embarrassed voice as she stepped back. She looked up to see a boy about her age, if not a bit older. He was of a lean build and a bit taller than Harry with disheveled golden blond hair just a bit longer than the tips of his ears, elegant cheekbones, aristocratic features, and clear, amused gray eyes.

"What a perfect situation; I really am late. Therefore, Bridget Ashlyne, I will leave you in Mr. Malfoy's more than capable hands." Professor Dumbledore turned his gaze to the boy, but his voice was still amiable as he said, "I trust you will safely escort her to the Great Hall." With that, he disappeared, leaving the two teenagers in a stunned silence.

Bridget stared at the boy with widened, slightly frightened eyes before she sprang back out of his grip. This startled him out of his dazed silence and his face settled into a rather arrogant, amused look that she would have expected from someone with the name 'Malfoy'.

Wait… _Malfoy?_ She wrapped her arms around herself, her breath caught in her throat. Was Dumbledore _insane_? His father had tried to… to kill Harry. _And _she was supposed to be there with two _Gryffindors, _two of the most Gryffindor-ish Gryffindors there.

Although she was sure that something huge about Draco Malfoy had been cut out of her memory (or suppressed, whatever), she did remember that his portrayal in the popular series had not been a very nice one. He had seemed arrogant, spoiled and bullying. Then again, a lot of things seemed different and he hadn't done anything to her… yet. She sighed; it was all so confusing.

"Um, hello," she started uncertainly. "I'm Bridget Griffins."

"Draco Malfoy," he introduced with a genuine-looking smile. He… seemed nice enough. "Are you here visiting Professor Dumbledore?"

Uh… "Yes and no," she began slowly, grateful that Dumbledore had provided her with a basic story. "I _am _here to visit Uncle Albus, but I'm to start my schooling here next term."

Draco gave her what she thought might pass as a surprised look for the boy. "You're _related _to Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes," she said, wondering just how clever it was to mention her 'relation' to him. "His younger sister was my great-grandmother or something like that, so he's my… great-great uncle, I believe. I don't see him very often — busy as he is — but he invited me to attend the school this year. How could I refuse?" She smiled brightly, ignoring his stare as best she could. "Oh, look, we're here!"

* * *

"We're here," Lupin said once they reached the doors to the Great Hall, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. "I wonder if Albus is finished with Bridget yet."

Apparently the Headmaster had finished speaking with the girl because as soon as the two wizards entered the large hall they spotted her eating breakfast enthusiastically at the only table. However, the shocking thing wasn't that she was there, but who she was conversing with over her bacon and eggs.

"_Malfoy_?" Harry muttered incredulously. Surely she knew about Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins and even if she hadn't, Lucius Malfoy had attacked them the night before and Malfoy looked like his father. But then why would she be _talking _to him?

Harry shook himself out of his stupor and started to make his way to the table, the movement catching her eye. She stopped abruptly, waving to them just as enthusiastically as she'd been eating.

"Hi, Harry! Hello, Remus!"

* * *

Breakfast had been a rather tense hour of Draco and Harry purposefully refusing to speak with each other aside from arguing. To make matters worse, whenever one of the boys had attempted to talk to _her _they'd somehow ended up squabbling with each other like small children. She'd thusly given up talking with them and had, instead, conversed with Remus about what she should expect at Hogwarts and the Wizarding World in general (mainly concerning the "obvious" differences between Great Britain and America).

Well, until Harry had given up eating and, after she'd finished, dragged her out of the castle.

"What were you _thinking_?" he asked sternly once they were near the lake.

Bridget frowned. She had no idea what he could be talking about. They'd only known each other for a day or so; she hadn't had any _time _to do anything monumentally stupid. Normally it took her a week or so to reach the level of blindly optimistic stupidity that got her the look he was leveling at her.

She was honestly confused.

"About what?"

"Malfoy!"

_Oh. _It was because she had been talking to Malfoy. Harry's reaction made much more sense now, even if she didn't completely understand his reasoning. He didn't like it that she was friendly with his arch-rival. Well. That was rather chauvinistic of him, wasn't it?

"He was nice to me and Uncle Albus trusts him enough." Bridget frowned. The statement seemed… off for some reason. Oh, well. "Besides, I don't think he's that bad, just a bit spoiled. Until he does something that harms me, I'm not going to ignore him or anything. He was nice to me and to do otherwise in return would be rude. I don't like being rude; I feel so guilty afterwards. But, don't worry. I'll be careful."

Wisely, Harry didn't try to decipher her strange logic. "His father tried to _kill _us. Are you mad?"

"Hm." Bridget cocked her head, staring at him for the few seconds it took to think about her reply. "Yes, yes I am," she said solemnly.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_There it is. Thanks to _**Tortallgal**_, _**jessika black, **_and _**Serenity Rose 016 **_for the reviews. Please do review, especially if you enjoyed it.

_**Next time in **_**When Reality Fades**_:_

"_How long are you planning to sit in the rain?" he asked gently._

"_I like the rain," she replied stubbornly._

_Bridget wanted to stay to say there until the world started to make sense again, but as that was unlikely to happen anytime soon, she was going to sit there until she was good and ready to go back inside. Besides, she really did like the rain._

"_A while, then," he concluded. Bridget watched him push up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and lay back on the grass, lacing his fingers behind his head._

"_What are you doing, Remus?"_

"_I am not going to let you sit alone in the rain and dark; it's too dangerous." He closed his eyes, a satisfied smirk settling on his lips. "Just make sure I don't drown."_


	4. Stronger Than She Looks

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything from the Harry Potter franchise, nor do I intend to claim any ownership. So, everything other than my original characters, plot, and writing, as well as my interpretations of canon events and characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her minions. Yes: minions. Anyone as awesome as J.K.R. has to have minions.

* * *

_

Chapter Three

Stronger Than She Looks

"_But when a young lady is to be a heroine…. Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her way." – Jane Austen

* * *

_

"Professor Lupin?" Harry called as he pushed open the door to Number 8 Privet Drive (conveniently two doors down from the Dursleys' Number 4).

"Here, Harry," Lupin called back. "And I believe I told you to call me Remus. I am no longer your Professor, after all."

Harry followed the voice into the kitchen and was greeted with the odd image of his former Defense professor washing dishes. And he was wearing a frilly yellow apron while he did them. It was a little… worrying.

"Er, right," he muttered, eyeing the apron warily.

"Bridget should be in the back garden," Lupin said in a distracted voice as he attacked a pan with the same fervor one would expect from someone dueling for his life.

"Actually," he said, wondering if this was the best idea, "I was wondering if I could talk with you."

"Certainly, Harry." Lupin turned around, wiping his soapy hands on the bottom of the apron before motioning at the kitchen table. "Please sit down."

Right then. Harry sat at the small, square table and watched as Lupin took off the apron and sat down across from him.

"Tea?" he asked. Harry shook his head and waited for Lupin to conjure himself a mug of hot tea. "What can I help you with, Harry?"

The question was stuck in his throat. "Who is she?" he finally asked after several moments and a couple aborted attempts at asking his question.

"Who is… Bridget?" Lupin asked. He both looked and sounded confused and Harry didn't blame him.

"Yeah," he continued, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, I know _who _she is — I don't think she's lying or anything — but I don't understand _why_. Hermione said it might be because of," he paused and took a deep breath, letting himself look back up at Lupin, "Voldemort."

"I don't know if it really has anything to do with Voldemort," Lupin replied slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. "There is a possibility, but none of us know precisely why she's here, including Bridget. She is very important, though. You see, she has a very large capability for — "

He was interrupted by a loud crash of thunder as the electricity went out. Lupin calmly touched his wand to the nearest outlet and the lights went back on. But, he didn't continue his sentence, instead taking another long drink out of his mug of tea.

"Pro — um, Remus," Harry started awkwardly, intent on — "Did you say Bridget is in the garden?"

"Yes."

"But it's raining, storming, actually." He gestured at his own still-damp clothes.

"It's raining?" Lupin repeated. His eyes widened and he set his mug down. "Oh dear."

* * *

Bridget leaned against the lone tree in the yard, her arms resting on her bent knees with her head tilted back to let the rain fall against her face. The area behind her temple was beginning to pound and the cool drops were soothing.

This whole — the whole situation was utterly too much. Everything, her entire world had changed in the span of a day. Her _entire world _had literally (even in her upset state, the pun was most definitely intended) been turned about. She didn't know what had happened, her friends and family were almost an entire decade away, and she was stuck in the middle of a fictional _fantasy _book series.

But, as much as she was put off and startled by the changes, for the first time in years everything felt _right._

"You're sitting in the mud."

"I happen to like the mud," she replied shortly as she opened her eyes to the sight of a soaking wet Remus Lupin. "It's so very _muddy._"

Remus pushed the wet hair out of his eyes, making it stick up into a rather ridiculous looking poof, and sat down next to her. In the mud. "Are you feeling well?" he asked.

"I'm fine." She sighed, letting her head fall against the tree again. After trying to ignore the unconvinced gaze Bridget could _feel _coming from him, she looked back up. "Oh al-_right_. I'm really not at all fine. How is it that you _do _that? Dear Lord, it's freaky."

"Do what?"

She narrowed her eyes. He knew exactly what she was talking about. "Know when I'm lying through my teeth. Half the time my mother can't even tell when I'm doing that."

"It's raining." He waved a hand at the sky as if that explained everything.

Bridget raised an eyebrow, head tilted curiously. "So I've noticed," she drawled, hoping to prompt more.

"When you're upset it rains or gets stormy, doesn't it?" he finally said.

"Um, I dunno, perhaps. I hadn't noticed. Normally when I'm upset, I don't worry that much about the weather."

He sighed as if she were a pupil being purposefully dim. "Biddy, it rains _because _you're upset."

She blinked at him. "Huh?"

"I assume Dumbledore told you earlier, but you have an incredible amount of raw magic and you were raised in Hawaii, which, like the land Hogwarts is built on, is a significant source of natural magic. That combination makes your ability to perform natural magic outstanding and reflexive, so when you perform accidental magic it tends to manifest itself as a form of natural magic." Remus gestured at his surrounding again with a slightly tired grin while Bridget stared. "Hence the rain. Now, what exactly is bothering you?"

She recovered from the shock quickly. "Um, nothing, don't worry about it," she muttered as she withdrew both physically and mentally, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. She turned her vacant stare back towards the now-dark night sky. "Really, I'll be perfectly fine."

"How long are you planning to sit in the rain?" he asked gently.

"I like the rain," she replied stubbornly.

Bridget wanted to stay to say there until the world started to make sense again, but as that was unlikely to happen anytime soon, she was going to sit there until she was good and ready to go back inside. Besides, she really did like the rain.

"A while, then," he concluded. Bridget watched him push up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and lay back on the grass, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"What are you doing, Remus?"

"I am not going to let you sit alone in the rain and dark; it's too dangerous." He closed his eyes, a satisfied smirk settling on his lips. "Just make sure I don't drown."

She fell back into her sulk, giving him a distant look. "Very well."

A half-hour later her resolve broke. "They all lied to me," she whispered as the rain began to pour with increasing fervor, sounding absolutely devastated. "They all lie — " Bridget broke off with a choked sob. She took precisely three deep breaths as she tried to blink away the tears. "I was just so damn stupid. Such a fu — " her voice caught in her throat again and she took that as a sign from God, choosing a much more PG-rated vocabulary, "such an idiot. I was absolutely captivated by those books — I loved them, frankly — and now, now I feel so _used. _They exploited my love of books to _prepare _me, to _train _me and I don't even know why.

"_Why _am I here? Why would anyone go through all this trouble to _bring _me here? And why would they do so to hide me in the first place? Why couldn't anyone just tell me what was going on? Why is everything _still _being kept from me? Why won't anyone just _tell — me — what's — going — __**on**_?"

Bridget stopped talking as if someone had stolen her breath, biting her bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. She took quick, shallow breaths, trying to abate the sobs she could feel coming, trembling from the effort it took as much as from the cold rain. Two warm arms encircled her shoulders, pulling her against a firm chest and she gave up.

* * *

Honestly, it was an unexpected development. Remus prided himself in his ability to read people, especially people he knew well, and he had thought that Bridget was concerned about the sudden introduction of magic to her life or even the fact that she was living with a werewolf who wasn't just a male, but also almost twice her age. He had even considered that Biddy might be worried or frightened about the war.

He definitely hadn't thought that she would've taken all that in stride, but was hurt by how it had all come up about. Now, after she'd told him, Remus thought he really should have known better. It had been bound to be something unexpected and he didn't know how he could fix it.

Perhaps it was the storm brewing around them, or the way she was curled up, but Remus thought she looked rather small and helpless, much like — no, it was best not to think about that. He shook his head firmly once before wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close. It was the only way he knew to help and he hoped it was at least a little comforting.

Remus Lupin was tired, cold, wet, and more worried than he'd like to admit, but — as he sat in the rain, covered in mud and grass and hugging a desperate, sobbing girl as she clung to him like her world was about to end — he felt better than he had in years.

* * *

Bridget giggled, her hand automatically covering her mouth as she did so, brown eyes bright with amusement and Harry fought the urge to repeat his mistake to make her do it again. She'd been unusually subdued in the past few days and any sign of… of _her_ was more than welcome. It was strange for him to care about anyone who wasn't Hermione, a Weasley, or in immediate danger.

"Do be careful, love," she said, laughter coloring her voice as she helped him back to his feet. Bridget brushed the dirt off his shoulders with a slightly gentler Hermione-like efficiency and straightened his shirt. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"I don't do it on purpose."

She gave him an amused look. "Nevertheless, you get injured with frighteningly high frequency. Now stop pouting; I'd like to get the groceries before nightfall."

The girl graced him with a bright smile before she started off down the road again and Harry was momentarily distracted by the way the jumper she'd borrowed from Remus draped across her hips. Ron would think it was hilarious he was mesmerized by a girl who didn't even show her figure when girls like Lavender didn't even catch his interest.

* * *

Bridget buried her face against Harry's shoulder, feeling terribly grateful for the way his arms were locked around her waist. The whirling colors and spinning sensation were making the normally adventurous girl queasy. She had quickly discovered that traveling by Floo powder wasn't exactly pleasant.

The spinning stopped suddenly enough to throw them both off balance and onto the floor with Harry hovering just over her, having just caught himself before his full weight hit her. There was a moment when they were face to face, nearly touching, before he was pulled off by an excited, lanky red-head Bridget assumed was Harry's best friend, Ron.

"Hey, Harry," he said cheerfully, as if it were normal for him to be pulling Harry off of strange girls. "Did you hear? Dad got tickets for the World Cup! It's Ireland and Bul — " Ron broke off mid-word, having finally noticed the girl his best friend was pulling to her feet.

"Stop staring, Ronald," a girl reprimanded firmly. She had bushy brown hair that reminded Bridget of her own on a bad day and, as the only non-ginger in the room Bridget didn't already know, could only be Hermione. "Hello," she continued briskly, "I'm Hermione Granger and this is Ron Weasley."

"Bridget Griffins," she responded with a smile. "It's nice to meet you."

She had no sooner said this than Remus stepped out of The Burrow's fireplace. Well, actually, he stumbled out, fell, and was almost hit by the two heavy looking trunks he'd been escorting.

"Remus!" Bridget said in a worried voice. She rushed forward and dropped next to him, fussing impressively. "Are you okay?"

Remus let out a deep breath, ignored Bridget, and stood up. She followed his example, still checking him for injury.

"I'm fine," he replied, almost sounding distracted. He floated the two trunks into their proper places despite the bruise she could see blooming on his wrist.

"I told you to let me go by myself," she chided. She brushed the soot off of his jumper, swiping his hands away when he tried to help, the silly man. "I would've been fine, Harry could have taken one of those and you wouldn't have almost been _crushed _by wayward trunks!"

"I was not almost crushed by wayward trunks." Remus grinned at her. "And you might've gotten lost."

"I would _not _have gotten lost!" she protested, hands planted on her hips. "I would have been just _fine, _thank you very much. I only got lost that once and you two hadn't been very clear about pronunciation."

Harry snickered and Bridget spun around to poke him for his ill-timed 'remark', but she was stopped by the sight of all the Weasleys and Hermione watching with interest. She felt her face heat up and instead half-hid behind Harry.

"Oh, hello, Harry dear," a short woman who both looked and sounded motherly said, rushing forward. She was probably Mrs. Weasley. "And, Remus, how have you been? Have either of you been eating enough? You both look so thin." Oh, yes, that was definitely Mrs. Weasley. The woman smiled at the still-blushing girl. "And you must be Bridget."

"Um, yes. I am."

"I've heard quite a bit about you." From whom? "If you need anything, just ask. Now, supper is nearly finished. You will be staying to eat, won't you, Remus?"

"How could I pass up your magnificent cooking, Molly?"

Mrs. Weasley beamed, the picture of maternal pride. "Ron, Harry, be dears and bring those trunks upstairs. Bridget will be staying with Ginny for the night. Do tell that girl to come downstairs," she instructed firmly as the boys each lifted a trunk and started to make their way up the staircase, talking animatedly about the Irish team. "Now let's introduce you to the rest of the family, Bridget."

"Um…" she said intelligently as the woman led her out to the backyard. She gave Remus a helpless look, but he merely shrugged, looking entirely too amused.

* * *

She should have a headache by now; at least that's what she thought she should have. In less than half-an-hour she had met Hermione and the entire Weasley clan (two of which, Bill and Charlie, Harry hadn't previously known), was almost killed by identical fleeing red-heads, had to witness one of Mrs. Weasley's famous lectures, and had been subjected to Percy's lecture on America's irresponsibility regarding their cauldron construction. Most people would have completely lost it by now but those factors had, sadly enough, only made her more comfortable.

Fred had even turned her hair the trademark Weasley red during supper (supposedly to help her "feel like one of them"), and Bridget, even though she had to wait for it to turn back to its normal dark brown, had just laughed it off. Now she was sitting in the garden at the Burrow with Harry, Remus, Hermione, and a majority of the Weasley family trying to explain what had happened to them since her arrival.

"Yes, well, whoever was supposed to set it up on my side apparently managed to _completely_ mess up the Aetuslimen Uncle Albus had arranged for me and, instead of ending up at Hogsmeade, like I was supposed to, I ended up near Harry's house, two years early and right on top of him if I remember properly," she said before looking at Harry, who was sitting across from her. "I had to stay there for the night and then Uncle Albus sent Remus to get us the next morning."

"You're related to Headmaster Dumbledore?" Hermione asked at the first pause. Bridget blinked at her, slightly side-tracked by the comment and wondering if that was all the information Hermione had caught in her info-soaked statement. She stared blankly at the other girl for a few moments before realizing that this was _Hermione Granger_; she could probably recite what she had said word-for-word, never mind just getting one or two of the facts.

"Um, I don't think so, but I've apparently been lied to a majority of my life by a majority of the people I've encountered so it wouldn't surprise me at this point. My hypothetical relation to him is supposed to be my cover story."

"So, you're _not_ related to Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione summed up.

"Not as far as I know." Bridget glanced at Remus. The man seemed to know more about her life than she did. To be completely honest, it was getting a bit annoying. He shrugged in silent response and she sighed.

"Okay… um, moving on, this is a rather long story, isn't it? Anyways, I was supposed to stay at Hogwarts with Uncle Albus and Draco, and Har — "

"Malfoy?" Ron shouted incredulously. Bridget looked up and noticed that everyone was giving her equally incredulous looks (except for Harry and Remus, of course, who were scowling or frowning). She felt her face heat up for the second time that day.

"Um, yeah, Draco Malfoy," she answered in a small voice, shrinking under everyone's gaze.

This wasn't going as smoothly as she had hoped it would. Perhaps it was because Harry was supposed to be helping her, but he was just sitting next to Ron, looking alternately amused and cross. She coughed, trying to regain control of her thoughts, and kept going.

"Yes, well, Remus and Harry Portkeyed back to Privet Drive the next day and I was pulled along with them. 'Cept I happened to be on the Slyth—um, far side of Hogwarts, nowhere near Hogsmeade or them, when it happened. Remus then tried to Side-Along me back to Hogwarts, and Harry was pulled along.

"We repeated this admittedly thick process a few times until Uncle Albus (Draco had noticed my rather abrupt disappearance and told him) Apparated to Privet Drive. There was a bit of a collision but once we sorted out whose body parts were whose, Uncle told us that he believed that our bond was a bit stronger than previously suspected.

"Apparently we can't be too far apart for very long or we'll get 'sick' and separate magical transportation is out of the question. He also thinks that if we're under severe emotional, physical, or magical stress it would cause the bond to (what did he say?), um, tighten, so we'd have to be even closer or something like that, he was rather vague with the entire explanation. He's also not entirely sure how long this 'stage' of the bond will last.

"But it all came down to the fact that I had to stay on Privet Drive, at a safe house Uncle had bought earlier, with Remus so that neither Harry nor I would get, um, sick."

She stopped talking and took a deep, relieved breath. The rest of the room's red-haired occupants (and one brown haired one), however, seemed to still be processing all the information she had given them.

"Why don't you take Bridget upstairs, Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley said in a slightly strained voice to her youngest child.

"Sure, Mum," Ginny replied, standing up. Bridget stood and followed her up the stairs, wondering what Mrs. Weasley had to discuss with the others.

* * *

"What worries you, Molly?" Lupin asked as soon as the two youngest girls had left the room. Harry turned away from the now-empty doorway to look at Mrs. Weasley.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Harry, dear," she replied quickly. "Perhaps you, Ron, and Hermione should go into the garden."

"I'd rather he stay," Lupin said quietly. She sighed fretfully in response.

"I'm merely worried about her, Remus. The girl seems so fragile," Mrs. Weasley said, wringing her hands. "How's her appetite? Has she been eating enough? She only had one serving at supper and she looks so tired."

Harry frowned. Did she? He didn't know if she'd been sleeping or not, but she'd always only eaten one serving. Should he have been paying more attention? Dumbledore had said he was supposed to be helping her.

"Bridget is doing as well as can be expected," Lupin said. "She has just been thrown into a world she believed to be fictional and she's learned that her entire background hasn't been much more than a lie. It would be difficult for anyone, but I am sure she'll be able to thrive here. Believe me; she's stronger than she looks."

Harry doubled over, clutching at his forehead. It wasn't his scar, but he knew that something was —

"Professor Lupin! Mum!" Ginny screamed down the stairs. "_Harry!_"

* * *

"Really?" Ginny asked brightly.

Bridget smiled back with a distracted nod. She was feeling a bit light-headed and there was a slight pounding behind her eyes. Maybe she should have eaten more at dinner.

"Yeah, almost all of my cousins are guys, I have this cousin I grew up with and my closest friends are guys. Believe me, I know the pains of overprotective males," she replied.

"So, what year are you in?"

"I'm supposed to be in my fifth, but Uncle Albus placed me in sixth and I'm mainly being tutored; I'm not taking the reg — " Bridget stopped speaking and her eyes widened.

A bright light was blinding her and her head felt like it was going to explode. She doubled over, her head in her hands, and closed her eyes, hoping that once the light was gone her headache would be, too. She realized simultaneously that the light wasn't gone even though her eyes were screwed shut, and she wasn't breathing anymore.

"Bridget? Bridget!" Someone pulled her towards them and grabbed her face in their hands. She couldn't breathe, her lungs just weren't getting enough air and it was scaring her. "Biddy? Look at me, love." She opened her eyes. Remus was staring down at her, concern apparent in his eyes and his voice. "I need you to breathe for me, Biddy. Breathe in." She took in a deep breath, and then slowly let it out. "Good girl, now keep doing that for me."

She did exactly that. After repeating the process a few times she realized that the pain in her head had receded, leaving a prickly feeling behind. Remus let go of her face and hugged her tightly. She clung to him just as tightly, still frightened.

"Never do that again," he muttered to her. He pulled away and grasped her shoulders. She stared back, gripping his arms weakly, the fear and uncertainty still evident in her eyes. "Next time you feel ill, I want you tell someone immediately, no matter how small it may seem. That way we can prevent another episode like this."

"Okay," she responded faintly before sitting down weakly on the bed.

Cautiously, as if he wasn't sure what he should be doing, Harry sat down next to her. Bridget grabbed his hand, causing him to give her a startled look, but he relaxed into his position.

"What _was_ that, Professor?" Ginny asked.

Bridget started at the sudden voice; she had forgotten the other girl was there. She looked up, other than Harry, Ginny, and Remus (whose presence made Bridget feel quite a bit better) Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Hermione, and Ron were looking in.

Remus looked up at Ginny from where he was kneeling at Bridget's side. "Her magic was being released. A normal witch or wizard's magic is released slowly, increasing gradually until that person reaches his or her twenty-first birthday. However, because Bridget's magic was suppressed for so long and there's so much, it's being released in large bursts instead of slowly. It can cause a sort of physical shock, which is what she just experienced." He gave her another worried look but said, "She should be fine now."

As fate would have it, she fainted for the second time that summer.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Don't forget to review if you read it (especially if you enjoyed it at all).

Thanks to _**Edward Cullen's girl**_, _**fanXforever**_, _**Lori**_, _**SerenityRose016**_, and _**In the realm of insanity **_for reviewing the last chapter.

_**Next time in **_**When Reality Fades:**

"_Consider?" the one on her left said archly. "Now that doesn't quite cut it, does it, George?"_

"_No," George (maybe) responded, "it doesn't."_

"_Fine," she said blandly. "I'll answer your questions, just put me down. I am perfectly capable of walking on my own, you realize."_

"_Not from what Harry's said," Fred replied cheerfully._

_Bridget glared at him. "What do you mean 'what Harry's said'? Has he been talking about me?"_

"_Only a bit," George said in the same cheerful voice._

"_Yeah, a little," the other continued, "or all the time."_

_George shared an amused grin with his brother. "Doesn't shut up about you actually."_

"_It's a little cute, now tha — "_

"_You know what?" Bridget interrupted. Her head was starting to hurt again. "You're enjoying this way too much. I really don't care anymore. Do you think you could, you know, let me down? I'd really appreciate it."_

"_There we go," said Fred much too happily. "That is _precisely_ the attitude we're looking for."_


	5. Nice to Meet You

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything from the Harry Potter franchise, nor do I intend to claim any ownership. So, everything other than my original characters, plot, and writing, as well as my interpretations of canon events and characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her minions. Yes: minions. Anyone as awesome as J.K.R. has to have minions._

_Recognized dialogue and plot comes from Chapter 6: "The Portkey" and Chapter 7: "Bagman and Crouch" of _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

* * *

Chapter Four

Nice to Meet You

"_I knew who I __**was **__when I got up this morning, but I think I must have changed several times since then." – Lewis Carroll (Alice)

* * *

_

Mrs. Weasley bustled out of the room with the same quick efficiency with which she'd bustled in. Once the door had shut behind the woman, Ginny groaned loudly into her pillow.

"This is too early," she observed.

"You lot are the ones who even _want _to watch Quidditch," Hermione said, sounding much too chipper. "You should be happy your dad got the tickets."

Bridget ignored them both, attempting to stretch, which only caused her to fall off the bed with a dull _thunk. _It seemed like during the night she had somehow managed to get herself tangled in the sheets and was now finding it hard to untangle herself. She resolutely sat up — glaring at the bed — and started the horribly difficult task of liberating the lower half of her body from the evil bedding.

"Are you okay, Bridget?" a mass of brown (Hermione, she'd assume) asked in a concerned voice as Bridget stood and almost fell over again.

"'M fi'e," she replied, just barely understandable.

She straightened up (finally free of the damnable sheets) and made the bed before pulling random (hopefully matching) clothes out of the trunk of supplies Uncle Albus had given her.

"The bathroom we use is on the first door to the right," Hermione called as she left the bedroom.

Bridget nodded absently, still half-asleep, and made her way to the room. By the time she had finished (a grand total of about 15 minutes) she was fully awake and rather cheerful. She stepped out into the hallway and was instantly mowed over.

"Sorry," the guy, one of the twins — George, if she had to guess — said. "I didn't see you."

"That's okay," Bridget replied brightly as he gave her a hand up. "Thanks."

She started to make her way back to Ginny's room, but stopped midway and turned back to the twin. "Oh, you're bringing those Ton-Tongue Toffee things, right?" she asked, surprising herself just as much as George.

"Yeah," he said, giving her an odd look. "How'd you know?"

"Doesn't matter," she said quickly with a small shrug. Honestly, _she_ didn't even know how she knew; it was probably a book-memory thing. "You just might want to hide them a bit more carefully. From what I hear, your mother has sharp eyes. Um, I'll be — yeah, bye."

She gave him a last, almost sheepish, grin before disappearing into Ginny's room, and leaving him alone in the hallway, very confused. Bridget let her head drop against the closed door. "I can't believe I just said that," she muttered to herself. "I need to learn to keep my mouth shut or I'm going to get into some major trouble."

* * *

He didn't follow her advice, the silly boy, and the argument that broke out between Mrs. Weasley and the twins did not make their departure from the Burrow a very pleasant one. In fact, it made it very cold and _un_pleasant. Bridget had seen one too many stupid arguments back home and whenever one occurred, wherever she was, she had a tendency to feel extremely uncomfortable.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked as soon as they were far enough from the others to prevent being overheard.

Bridget started at his voice, but that was almost immediately followed by the urge to bang her head against something hard. This was the third time the boy had asked her that and it wasn't even 5 o'clock yet. She understood what had happened the day before had freaked everyone out (Mrs. Weasley had forced two extra portions of breakfast and a too-large jacket that had originally belonged to Charlie on her), but he was slowly driving her insane.

Of course, the fact that she had attached herself to his side as soon as she'd seen him might have had something to do with his concern. But she couldn't help that; she got clingy when she was upset and Harry was the most familiar person there. Bridget sighed to herself and rubbed her forehead tiredly (the headache that was forming behind her eyes wasn't helping any, either).

"Fine, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Everyone gathered around the grungy old boot. Reluctantly, Bridget hiked up her backpack. She wasn't too keen on Portkeying again; she could remember what had happened the last time she had traveled by Portkey and it hadn't been fun. Harry, apparently remembered, too, because as soon as she touched a finger to the boot he wrapped an arm around her middle, pulling her flush to him.

She sighed and decided that it was way too early to argue with him.

"Three…" Mr. Weasley counted down, "two… one…"

There was a sudden, familiar, unpleasant tug in her stomach before she was pulled off the ground and, although Bridget wouldn't admit it aloud, she was rather glad that Harry had been so protective; the slight spinning sensation was not helping her stomach at all. Then, as suddenly as they had left the ground, her feet were back on it, the abruptness causing both her and Harry to fall over.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill."

Bridget hadn't even heard what the tired voice had said. She was draped on top of Harry, staring down at him, her face a bright red color. Before anything could be done she was pulled off of him by —

He was a tall, good-looking boy of about nineteen who had brown hair and light grey eyes, and, for some reason, gave her a feeling of immense sadness. She had seen him at the Portkey Point, but she had been talking with Harry at the time and had missed the introduction.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine, just a little off-balance," she replied with a nervous smile. He smiled back brightly.

"Cedric Diggory," he introduced, extending a hand.

"Um, Bridget Griffins," she responded quietly. She shook his hand cautiously and noticed that he didn't seem to be in a rush to leave.

Oh, God, he wasn't going to talk to her, was he? She _hated_ meeting new people. Why in heaven's name couldn't she be more intimidating or something? Why did she have to be so damn _friendly? _Great Merlin, this sucked.

"So, what year are you in?" he asked.

Bridget suppressed a whimper, _Oh crud. What was she supposed to do? _

* * *

"What are you _doing?_" Bridget whispered as she soon as they'd finished their feeble apologies to the poor, bewildered boy. "Put me _down_!"

"We wanted to — "

" — talk to you."

"If you put be down, I might just _consider _it," she ground out irritably, kicking her feet in a half-hearted to get down. She had just been getting comfortable talking with Cedric when they'd decided to carry her away (most literally). What would've been wrong with doing that straight off so she wouldn't have had to bother talking to a new person?

"Consider?" the one on her left said archly. "Now that doesn't quite cut it, does it, George?"

"No," George (maybe) responded, "it doesn't."

"Fine," she said blandly. "I'll answer your questions, just put me down. I am perfectly capable of walking on my own, you realize."

"Not from what Harry's said," Fred replied cheerfully.

Bridget glared at him. "What do you mean 'what Harry's said'? Has he been talking about me?"

"Only a bit," George said in the same cheerful voice.

"Yeah, just a little," the other continued, "or all the time."

George shared an amused grin with his brother. "Doesn't shut up about you actually."

"It's a little cute, now tha — "

"You know what?" Bridget interrupted. Her head was starting to hurt again. "You are enjoying this way too much. I really don't care anymore. Do you think you could, you know, let me down? I'd really appreciate it."

"There we go," said Fred much too happily. "That is _precisely_ the attitude we're looking for."

She glared, but they still set her down with cheery smiles just as their father set off in search of the camping grounds yet again. They passed a befuddled-looking Muggle man and an obviously tired wizard in very strange Muggle wear.

"Now," Bridget said with a tired sigh, "what is it you want to talk about?"

"How did you know about Mum and the toffees?" George questioned bluntly. He sounded like he was running an interrogation rather than questioning a friend of his younger brother's friend.

"Uh…" She was starting to wonder if she had greatly underestimated their intelligence. She had thought they would understand the whole 'from the future' thing; as far as she knew they were far from stupid. "I thought I'd already explained that part."

"And when did you do this, pray tell?"

Bridget paused before answering, temporarily distracted by what seemed to be a tent-palace made entirely of silk and guarded by suspicious-looking peacocks.

"Oh, um, last night after — " she stopped. Oh, right, they hadn't _been _there. God, how could she be so stupid? It had only been the _night before_, "after dinner, at a discussion you two weren't at."

She took a deep breath.

"Um… I'm from the future, a time when Harry's life has been chronicled by an _extremely _popular, apparently incorrectly assumed to be fictional book series with which I was, sadly enough, obsessed. It was all a ruse to get me well-informed enough to be brought back to _this _time, but someone on my side screwed up so I'm two years early and connect to our dear Mr. Potter via a magical bond.

"My memories of the series based on anything that hasn't happened yet, but I still get feelings and what-not. So, that's how I know." They gave her identically skeptical looks and she frowned. "If you don't believe me you can ask your father, Harry, Ron, Hermione or Ginny; they were all there. Actually, everyone barring you two and Percy were there."

The two boys continued to stare. She blinked.

"Your insights are absolutely, um, _fascinating,_" she deadpanned. "But if you will excuse me, I think I should help Harry with that. He looks confused."

Bridget started to make her way towards the other boy, but George pulled her back. He asked what seemed to be a simple question, "Why?"

Her smile faltered a little and the amused (slightly distracted) look in her eyes vanished.

"You know what? I really don't know and it _sucks._"

* * *

Harry had never been camping before. Dudley hadn't liked anything involving either work or the outdoors and if he had, they probably wouldn't have brought Harry along anyways. So… how was he supposed to know how to pitch a tent? Determined, he picked up one of the tent poles; it couldn't be _that _difficult.

"Give me that, Harry."

With a bright smile, Bridget plucked the pole and finished put it in place where Ginny had been holding it up, finishing setting up the tent. She straightened up and gave Harry a triumphant smile. "Done."

Okay, so maybe he didn't have to worry about it because it seemed like Bridget knew _exactly _what she was doing. Again. Harry abruptly realized that he might be underestimating her a little.

Oh, bollocks. Harry peered at the two tents suspiciously; magic had definitely given Mr. Weasley a skewed version of space. Those tents did _not _look like they would fit him and Ron, much less all of them.

"We'll be a bit cramped," Mr. Weasley said as he entered the tent, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

There was no way it could work, but Harry still ducked under the tent flap after Bridget. His jaw dropped. What he had thought was a tent actually seemed to be a… portable three-room flat (he was strongly reminded of Mrs. Figg's house — complete with the pervasive smell of cabbage and cats). It was… really cool and nothing like the strange contraptions Muggles used when they wanted to 'connect with nature', no matter what it looked like on the outside.

"Well," Mr. Weasley continued, sounding a little careworn, "it's not for long. I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."

"Harry," Bridget said, catching his attention as she was dragged away by Ginny. "We're going to our tent. See you later."

* * *

"Nope," Bridget said brightly as she shook her head. Ginny was fun to argue with. "It's gonna be Ireland."

"But Krum is the better Seeker."

"It takes more than one good player to win a game."

"You don't even know anything about Quidditch!"

"I know; _you're_ the one taking me seriously."

Jet pulled off the jacket Mrs. Weasley had given her, and cheerfully grabbed the money bag Uncle Albus had provided for her (there had apparently been an account set up for her earlier; by who, Bridget hadn't the faintest idea) before tossing her knapsack on the bunk above Ginny's.

"Hasn't Harry told you _anything_ about the Wizarding World?"

"Of course he has, but there are a few things more important than Quidditch, not a lot, but enough to keep him occupied between _protecting_ me from Draco's evil and devious plots."

"You're going to have to explain to me how you can be friends with Draco Malfoy. Is he really that good in bed?"

"Ginny!" Bridget gasped out, shocked. "I didn't know you had it in you. I haven't slept with Draco and you very well know it."

"We never really got a chance to talk yesterday," Hermione said abruptly, interrupting the friendly banter that had erupted between Bridget and Ginny.

"Oh," Bridget responded warily, slightly worried as to where this was going. "Um, no, I suppose we didn't."

"Well, Harry told me and Ron everything," she continued briskly as Bridget and Ginny exchanged amused looks, "and last night I read my copy of _British and Irish Pureblood Genealogy._ Professor Dumbledore's sister, Amelia, moved to Massachusetts in the late 1800's with her husband, an American she had met while he was on vacation near the Dumbledore family's estate in Ireland. She died at a relatively young age for a witch, 85, and what happened to the rest of her family was kept quiet, most likely by the Headmaster himself. All you have to do is remember that and you'll be fine."

Bridget stared blankly at her for a few moments before, "Um, right, I can do that."

"It is imperative that you don't confuse your facts, especially in front of someone like Malfoy. A person with Malfoy's bloodline has, most likely, memorized the genealogy of every pureblood family in the United Kingdom."

"I'll be _fine_," Bridget responded in a colder voice, bristling. She had never liked it when people treated her like she was incompetent. "Uncle Albus's sister and my great-something-grandmother, Anne, emigrated from Ireland in the late 1800's after marrying an American guy, who would, therefore, be my great-something-grandfather. She died when she was 85, and I can make it up from there. I _got_ it. It's not really all that difficult."

"But…"

* * *

Harry emerged from their tent a few minutes later with a large pot Fred had found under the kitchen sink (he still didn't understand why they couldn't just use the sink) and found Bridget standing outside in an awkward silence with Hermione. Ginny had apparently already left with the twins to collect firewood (another thing that seemed completely unnecessary seeing as they also had a fully functional oven).

"So," Bridget said gratefully once she caught sight of him, "water, right?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Are you okay?"

She looked a bit more withdrawn than she had earlier and she was no longer smiling, which, he had noticed, she did almost all the time.

"I'm okay," she said with a smile.

Now, Harry knew that he wasn't exactly perceptive (a fact Hermione had brought to his attention last year — several times, in fact), but even he could tell that something was wrong with her.

"You don't feel sick, do you?"

"No," she said. "Now come on; your friends are leaving us behind."

She began to follow Ron and Hermione, not exactly trying to catch up, but still keeping in step with them. Harry sighed to himself, adjusted the pot in his arms and quickly caught up with her.

They watched in silence as the other campers finally woke up. They had just passed a group of African wizards roasting a rabbit over a bright purple fire when Bridget stopped dead, her mouth hanging open in shock.

"Aunty Liz?" she whispered incredulously.

He turned to look at where she seemed to be staring: a group of now silent American witches who. They were situated under a large American flag and a sign declaring them to be members of 'The Salem Witches' Institute.'

"Bridget Ashlyne!" a woman with long black hair exclaimed happily. She jumped up and walked up to Bridget, giving her a tight hug. "Where's your mother? She didn't say you folks were coming this year."

"I don't think they, um, are. I'm here with Harry, and the Weasley family; Uncle Albus got me a seat in the Top Box with them."

The woman gave Bridget a warm smile. "Oh, well, that makes a lot more sense, now, doesn't it? The Weasleys are a good family. Let me go get Guinevere or Benjamin."

Bridget blinked dazedly as the woman strode away.

"Wait, what just happened?" she muttered to herself after a few seconds of staring at the space 'Aunty Liz' had vacated. She sighed. "Oh, I'm so confused."

"Jet!" Bridget turned and was almost toppled over by an enthusiastic black-haired young woman.

* * *

"Gwen?" she asked softly.

"They finally told you!" the girl said happily.

"Uh, no, actually it was an accident. I sorta, um, fell here," Bridget replied, her voice fading towards the end of the statement. "Wait, you _knew?_ And what in the world are you doing here?"

Bridget had understood that her parents had known all about it and, most likely, so did the rest of her relatives. But, she hadn't expected her cousin to know (he could _not_ lie) and she most definitely had not expected her _friends_ to know_._

"No, not really," Gwen replied softly. She knew Bridget well enough to be able to tell when she was hurt. "Griffins is a common Muggle name and my parents told us you guys were Muggles. Ben and I found out when you disappeared. Nate was completely freaking out…."

Bridget felt her expression fall even more. She was more than a little hurt by this new revelation; although, in hindsight, she really shouldn't have been. Nathaniel's family and hers had supposedly been friendly for generations, way before hers had emigrated from the United Kingdom, and it explained Xavier's fascination with the television, telephone, computer, movie theater, and, well, you get the idea.

"Ben and David knew about it, though," Gwen continued cautiously. "Um, I'll go get them."

"No, don't bother," Bridget replied feebly. She looked back up at Gwen and smiled. It was a completely fake smile, but it was still a smile. "I better get going, it seems like Harry's friends have left us behind."

Gwen had finally noticed Harry, who had been silently standing next to Bridget the entire time. She gave her a look that clearly said, 'you better tell me who he is _right_ now, or I'm telling everyone you have a hot British boyfriend'.

"Oh!" Bridget said as she ignored the look, "I'm so sorry, Harry. This is my friend, Guinevere," ("Gwen!") "or Gwen Hart. Gwen, this is Harry Potter. I'm sorta, um," Bridget's cheeks began to turn a light pink color, "staying with him."

"_Really_?" Guinevere said while she gave Bridget another look, this one stating that she _would_ be getting details about this unusual arrangement eventually, whether Bridget liked it or not. She then gave Harry a bright smile. "It's nice to meet you, Harry."

"Um, nice to meet you, too," he replied. "We better go before Ron and Hermione notice we're not there."

"Uh, right," Bridget replied weakly. "Bye Gwen, see you later."

"See you, Jet," Gwen replied brightly, obviously trying not to sound too worried and failing horribly.

* * *

Harry was now officially worried about Bridget. She had gone from looking comfortable and downright cheerful at the Burrow to looking very hurt, and more than a little confused.

Oh, and there was the fact that Gwen Hart had held him back after Bridget had walked off to tell him that if her friend looked that unhappy and stressed the next time she saw her (apparently most noticeable due to her 'insufferably incessant need to seem happiest when she was hurting the most'), then he'd better have a good explanation for it. If he didn't, she had informed him, then he would have to worry about her, her brother, Bridget's older cousin, and a few of her other friends 'rectifying the problem'.

He was about to ask Bridget if she was okay again when there was a call from a group of what looked like grass covered tents.

"Harry!"

It was Seamus and Dean. They were with a woman with the same sandy-colored hair Seamus had. She was probably his mother; everyone knew Seamus was the biggest mother's boy in Gryffindor.

"Like the decorations?" Seamus asked, gesturing at his shamrock-covered tent, as soon as Harry and Bridget had reached him. "The Ministry's not too happy about it."

"Why aren't they?" Bridget responded with a big smile. "I think it's brilliant. It's so… green!"

Seamus grinned at her, his blue eyes sparkling with the same look he got every time he met an attractive girl. "And who might this pretty lass be?" the boy inquired, his brogue thickening just enough to be noticeable.

"This is Jet," replied Harry. He resisted the urge to glower at the other Gryffindor. "She's Dumbledore's great-niece."

"It's a pleasure," Seamus said, bowing over her hand dramatically. Bridget gave him an uncertain look before glancing uncertainly back at Harry.

"Uh, right," she said with a small, nervous smile. "Same here."

"Leave her alone, Seamus," Dean added as he stood up. "I'm Dean Thomas, and Romeo, here, is Seamus Finnegan."

"Nice to meet you," she replied, shaking Dean's hand much more comfortably. "I'm Jet, well, Bridget, Bridget Griffins."

"Ah, a good, Irish name, that is," Mrs. Finnegan pointed out. "You both will be supporting Ireland, of course." She gave both Bridget and Harry a sharp look.

"Of course," Bridget responded instantly. She hadn't seemed to notice the look. "It wouldn't be right any other way. I'm mostly Irish myself, after all."

* * *

Strangely enough Bridget felt much better after meeting Harry's roommates. The two boys had been very nice, although she had slowly edged away from Seamus and closer to Harry. The Seamus fangirls had been at least partially right about the young Irishman; he was a bit of a flirt.

Ron was the first to notice them when they reached the water queue. "Finally," he said loudly, attracting the attention of most of the people in the clearing. "What took you so long?"

"We saw Seamus and Dean," Harry responded, "and Bridget saw someone she knew."

"Really?" asked Hermione, looking interested. "Who would you know here?"

"My mum's friend, and her daughter, who I grew up with," Bridget answered awkwardly. Hermione gave her a questioning look, which Bridget promptly ignored.

They soon retrieved their water (after hearing an amusing story from Ron about a cross-dressing wizard named Archie), and made their way back to the Weasleys' tents. As they walked back Bridget was introduced to even more people, including Ernie Macmillan (a blond Hufflepuff the same year as Harry and the others) and Cho Chang, who, Bridget noticed, Harry couldn't seem to form a coherent sentence around.

The most interesting encounter, however, had to have been with Oliver Wood. He had convinced Harry (and, therefore, Ron, Hermione, and Bridget) to meet his parents at their tent.

"I'm playing for Puddlemere United," he said proudly once he had introduced Harry to his parents, who had promptly disappeared after the introductions (which had included thorough Quidditch statistics). "It's only for the reserve team, but…" he trailed off once he noticed Bridget.

She sighed, that seemed to be happening quite a bit lately. She just hoped that it stopped once she had been at Hogwarts for a couple of weeks.

"Who's that?" he asked Harry curiously.

"Bridget Griffins," Harry replied. "She's transferring to Hogwarts this year, Dumbledore's great-niece."

"Have you ever played Quidditch?" Oliver asked her bluntly. "Dumbledore was supposed to have been a great player; Gryffindor won the Cup every year he was on the team. He even managed to score the goal that won the Quidditch Cup in his sixth year after a Bludger broke his nose."

"No," Bridget said, trying not to blush as the rather handsome boy circled her once, looking at her up and down appraisingly, "I haven't."

He frowned, having finished his inspection. "Have you ever played Quodpot?"

"Um, no," she responded uncertainly. "I've actually never been on a broom."

"You should coach her, Potter," Oliver continued, addressing the Gryffindor Seeker now, who had moved closer to her. "The girls are going to be gone in a few years, and I haven't seen many good Chaser prospects other than the twi — "

"WOOD!"

Bridget jumped as a pretty blond girl stalked towards Oliver, who had gone pale.

"Are you bothering her, Oliver?" she asked the boy.

"No," Oliver replied, looking honestly confused. "Why would I be?"

"Hello, I'm Katie Bell," the girl said to Bridget, ignoring Oliver's perplexed gaze. "You must be Bridget; Fred and George told me about you. Ignore Oliver; the boy is just obsessed with Quidditch."

"I'm not _that_ obsessed. She just has the perfect structure; look at the way she's standing!"

Katie glanced at Oliver before turning back to Bridget, who was wondering exactly how she was standing. "Like I said, ignore him."

"Um, sure. I'm Jet Griffins," Bridget replied awkwardly.

"See!" Oliver interjected. "She even has the perfect name. Isn't that what you call those fast air-plows?"

Bridget suppressed a smile; she liked Oliver Wood.

* * *

Bridget didn't like Ludo Bagman. She wasn't quite sure why, but he gave her a bad feeling. Maybe it was because he looked like an over-grown kid, or like one of those old guys who used to play football in high school, and let himself go afterwards, but never gave up his old dreams of playing professional ball. It didn't really matter, though, either way he was really, _really_ creepy.

Then there was that look he had given her once she had been introduced, like he had met her before, but couldn't place where she was from, and his nonchalance when talking about that missing Bertha Jorkins woman. And there was —

She was pulled out of her thoughts by Harry's concerned, "Bridget?"

"Huh?" she replied as she looked at him, and realized that he, Hermione, and Ron were giving her strange looks. "Sorry, wasn't paying attention."

"Here are your omnioculars," Harry said, holding up what looked like a pair of binoculars. "I got them for all of us."

"Oh, no," she muttered, blushing. "You don't have to, Uncle Albus gave me enough to — " He shoved the omnioculars in her hands, effectively cutting her off. "Uh, right. Thanks."

"I'll get us some programs," Hermione said.

"Uh, I'll go with you, Hermione," Bridget added. She really hadn't handled Hermione's 'help' very well earlier and the other girl had only been trying to be nice.

Awkwardly, she put the omnioculars in her pocket and hurried off with Hermione. The two girls made their way over to the program-selling wizard while the boys waited for them and tinkered with their new toys.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you this morning," Bridget said suddenly while they waited in line for their turn. "You were just trying to help."

"That's okay," Hermione responded. "You've been under a lot of stress. I mean, I know what's it's like to have to transition from the Muggle to the magical world, but to do it so late, and…"

Bridget tuned her out and assumed that all had been forgiven. Hermione was, after all, no longer acting formal and cool to her, but was, instead, talking nonstop. Hm, that _was_ a good thing — right?

* * *

Hermione talked a _lot. _Bridget wasn't exactly the silent type herself, once she got comfortable enough to relax, but this was absolutely ridiculous. She didn't think the other girl had shut up for longer than five minutes since Bridget had apologized to her.

"Has Professor Dumbledore told you who your tutor will be?" Hermione asked Bridget as they made their way down the lantern-lit path to the Quidditch stadium.

Recognizing that it was a non-rhetorical question just in time, Bridget shrugged. "Nope, not yet."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "I suppose you'll find out before school begins, though."

"I suppose."

"Come _on_, Hermione," said Ginny in an exasperated voice. "It's _summer._ We're at the finals for the Quidditch World Cup. We don't want to talk about school, right Jet?"

Bridget opened her mouth to reply, but it was quickly covered by a large hand. Before she could even _think _of fighting back an arm wrapped around her stomach and arms, and she was pulled from the crowd into a dense gathering of trees. Oh _crud._

"Biddy," a familiar voice whispered softly. She relaxed; at least she wasn't being kidnapped by a stranger. "I know you're angry." She tensed again. Right, she was mad because he had _lied_ to her. She didn't like it when people lied to her. "But, I need for you to _not _scream." He cautiously let go of her and Bridget spun around angrily.

"Xavier, you _jerk!"_ she hissed at him. "You scared me half to death."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," he replied while managing to look entirely unapologetic. She glared at him.

"I thought someone was trying to kill me. Again!" Bridget crossed her arms angrily, and tried to zap him with her mind powers.

"Again?" Xavier repeated, actually sounding worried and a little apologetic this time. There wasn't a hint of pain though. Crud, it didn't seem like her mind powers were working today, not that they ever did; it just made her feel better.

"Yes, 'again'," Bridget snapped. "Now, _what_ do you want and why couldn't you just talk to me like a _normal _person?"

"You would've ignored me," he shrugged, "and I came to check up on you; Nate's driving me absolutely mad with all his worrying."

She narrowed her eyes. "If he's so worried, why didn't he come _himself_?"

Xavier gave her an odd look. "He's so busy fussing he didn't even realized it was an option until John mentioned it. Besides, I was pretty sure you would've killed him on sight, and he was afraid that he would put you in more danger by coming himself." He grinned at her again. "I can, however, assure you that he hasn't stopped pacing since you disappeared."

"Oh," she responded, calmer than before, and blushing slightly. "Well then, tell him I'm fine."

"That I will do, Biddy," he stated pushing himself off the tree he had been leaning against. "Now, how has Re — ?"

"Bridget!" a breathless voice said from behind her. "There you are!" It was Hermione.

"You just disappeared." And, apparently, Ginny. She stopped once she noticed Bridget's abductor. "Oh, hello." Xavier nodded in response. She gave Bridget a questioning look.

"Stop being mean, Xav," Bridget chided. "Hermione, Ginny, this is my friend Xavier Wilde. Xav, they are Hermione Granger, and Ginny Weasley."

"Pleasure to meet you." Bridget rolled her eyes. He could act extremely superior when he wanted to, and right now it seemed like he wanted to. "I better get going, Biddy. Promise me you'll be careful."

"I'm _always_ careful, Xavier," she teased with a small smile.

"Just promise me," he said, sounding much more Serious than he usually did.

"Xavier, what's going on?"

"Not now, Biddy, just be careful."

Her smiled faded a bit. "Xav, you're really — "

"Just promise me you'll be careful."

She frowned; he was scaring her. "I promise."

"Good." He grinned at her again. "Bye then." He started walking away before stopping and facing her again. "Oh, and Biddy?"

"Yeah?"

"I like the hair." He smirked at her before disappearing into the crowd.

* * *

**Author's End Notes:** There it is. Finally. Um... I would like for all of you to remember that, unlike in the books, Harry is a sixteen year old boy, not a fourteen year old one. That means that he is a bit more advanced in his hormonal (and mental) development concerning girls than he is in GoF. He still hasn't dated anyone (too busy), and his only crush has been Cho.

Thanks to _**DearthGrammar, Seadrance, SerenityRose016, J. Rolande, x beautiful stranger x, Mary James, Secret world, **_and _**missingcanada**_ for reviewing, to _**missingcanada**_ for adding me to story alerts and to _**IsolemnlySwear54 **_for adding me to favorites.

Remember to review if you read it. I love getting those e-mails. Flames will be used to keep Death Eaters from torturing innocent Muggles at International Sporting Events.

_**Next time in **_**When Reality Fades:**

_"Okay, that was weird, strange, unusual, odd, diff — "_

_"Bridget," Ginny interrupted firmly, "what was that?"_

_"Draco," Bridget replied faintly as she sat down next to Harry, "and his family, I think."_

_"You spoke to _Malfoy_?" Harry asked. "_Again_?"_


	6. And So It Begins

_**Disclaimer:**_ I once knew a guy who looked incredibly similar to Harry Potter— skinny, messy black hair, green eyes, and glasses— but, I didn't even own him, so I can't claim any ownership of Harry himself. Crud. I do, however, own Bridget Griffins, Benjamin Hart, Matthew Hart, and anything you don't recognize from the books. All recognized plot and dialogue comes from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 9: "The Dark Mark"

_**Author's Notes:**_ Here it is at last. I had to re-type it because my computer managed to lose the file (oh, fine, I managed to lose the file somewhere), so that's why it's taken so long. Starting next chapter things are going to start changing and it's all, of course, Bridget's fault.

* * *

Chapter Five: And, So It Begins…

"_It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more…" J.K. Rowling_

It took the three girls ten minutes to get to the stadium (Ginny had gotten their tickets from her father earlier, just in case they had to take care of 'girl things'), and they began to climb up the purple-carpeted stairs to the Top Box. They had almost reached it when—

"Well, well, well," a voice drawled from behind them, "if it isn't Weasley and Granger. And who's this? _Another_ Weasley?"

Bridget rolled her eyes before plastering a smile on her face and turning around.

"Hello, Draco," she said sweetly. "Do you like the hair? There was an accident yesterday and I'm going to have to wait for it to fade. It should be back to normal within the week, maybe a bit longer." She politely waited for his answer while watching his face quickly transform from shock to its normal bored arrogance. It was kind of funny, actually.

He scowled before saying, "I liked it better before."

"Yeah," Bridget said lightly, frowning at a strand of the colored hair. "Me, too. I don't think red's really my color."

"No, I think not," Draco replied with a definitely confident smirk. Bridget gave him a suspicious look. "Green is a much more suitable one."

She resisted the strong urge to stick her tongue out at the boy. Ever since she had left Hogwarts and he had learned that she wouldn't be under his influence for the time before the Quidditch World Cup he had kept up a constant correspondence with her.

Bridget was almost certain that he was only doing so to annoy Harry (which was unfortunately working), however, she had, sadly, found his letters amusing and full of valuable information. There was also the fact that his stupid owl wouldn't leave until she sent a letter back, so she continued to communicate with him via owl-post. Anyways, he had been dropping hints about her suitability for Slytherin rather than Gryffindor in almost every single letter and she knew that she had opened herself up for that jab. Damn him and his stupid Salazar Slytherin.

"I'm not sure green hair is really my thing, Draco," she drawled wryly.

"Draco, dear, why are you standing in the doorway?" A very pretty blond woman had reached them along with a man who looked remarkably like Draco, only older. Bridget briefly wondered who they were.

"Bridget, I would like for you to meet my parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy." She smiled at them while mentally berating her deduction skills. That should have been beyond obvious. "Mother, Father, this is Bridget Ashlyne Kawenakolina Kealohalanipau'ole Ka'iulani Griffins. She's a relative of Headmaster Dumbledore's, from Hawai'i."

Bridget gave Draco a scrutinizing look. Not only had he introduced her using her English _and_ Hawaiian names (ones that she knew she hadn't told anyone, Hawaiian tradition was such a pain sometimes), but he had also pronounced them perfectly. It was freaking her out a bit.

"Aloha ahiahi (1)," Mrs. Malfoy said pleasantly. "Kou inoa nani (2)."

"Mahalo nui loa (3)," Bridget replied automatically, shocked at hearing the language spoken so naturally by a haole when a majority of the Hawaiians she knew couldn't speak much more than 'aloha', and 'lei'. It was total twilight zone. "Aloha ahiahi…"

* * *

"Okay, that was weird, strange, unusual, odd, diff—"

"Bridget," Ginny interrupted firmly, "what was that?"

"Draco," Bridget replied faintly as she sat down next to Harry, "and his family, I think."

"You spoke to _Malfoy_?" Harry asked. "_Again?"_

"Uh huh."

"He introduced her to his parents," Ginny added. She sounded a bit confused.

"You shouldn't be talking to him," said Harry as he gave Bridget a decidedly stern look. "It's too dangerous."

"It is not," Bridget responded firmly. She had wanted to sound confident, but only managed to sound like she was pouting. "I can take care of myself."

He looked behind them to make sure that no one was paying them any attention before whispering, "You don't even have a _wand."_

She glared at him. "But, I _do_ have a mean left hook, apparently."

"Bridget…"

"You're being way too overprotective, Harry," she said, frowning. "I'm not helpless, and Uncle Albus is the one who introduced me to him. I think I know what I'm doing."

"His father tried to—"

"I _know_ that, Harry. Draco is not his father," she responded, interrupting him firmly. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back into her seat. "Not yet, at least."

"What do you mean 'not'—?"

"Ladies and gentlemen… welcome!" Bagman interrupted from his place at the front of the Top Box. "Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup."

As soon as he finished speaking the thousands of spectators made as much noise as they could: clapping, screaming, and waving flags that played their respective national anthems. Once the gigantic board across from them showed 'BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0' Bagman spoke again, "And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

"I wonder what they've brought," Bridget heard Mr. Weasley say while she tried to ignore Harry's pointed look. "Aaah! _Veela_!"

She sat up straighter, looking over the edge of the Top Box curiously. "What are veel—?"

About a hundred beautiful blonde women— veela— glided onto the field. Bridget shared a questioning glance with Ginny. What was the big deal? They just seemed to be a bunch of beautiful women. Well, a bunch of _really_ beautiful women.

The veela began to dance. Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and pretty much every adult male in the room stuffed their fingers in their ears. Bridget mentally groaned to herself, _right,_ veela had the power of, well, getting guys.

Both Harry and Ron (the only ones in the room who seemed to be affected) were staring at the dancing veela with glazed eyes. Bridget was pretty sure that Ron was about to start drooling. Simultaneously the boys stood up and walked to the railing. Bridget and Hermione glanced curiously at each other over the two empty seats.

Hermione looked back at Harry and her eyes widened dramatically. "Harry, _what _are you doing?" she asked sharply.

Bridget's head swung around to see exactly what Harry was doing. He _looked_ like he was about to climb onto the edge of the Top Box. Ron, on the other hand, didn't seem as concerned with height. _He_ was just going to dive off. The veela stopped dancing and Harry and Ron blinked slowly, confused.

Bridget reached out and pulled Harry back into his seat, trying not to laugh (Ginny's stifled giggles were _not _helping), and Hermione did the same with Ron. Hermione then pulled Ron's Ireland hat out of his hands, as he seemed intent on destroying it, all the while muttering to herself and generally sounding annoyed.

"Bridget?"

Now that Harry was back in the safety of his seat, Bridget stubbornly stared at the flying leprechauns, watching as the rainbow formed over the stadium. She could feel his eyes on her and continued to ignore him. Harry sighed.

"Did you know the entire Ireland team's on Firebolts?"

Bridget glanced at him. "Isn't that what you have?"

"Yeah." He pulled out his program and opened it to the Ireland team's section. "This is Aidan Lynch. He's not the fastest flyer out there, but his broom handling is the best in the League."

Bridget smiled to herself as she leaned forward and listened to Harry explain the stats on the entire team; this was going to be absolutely awesome. She had always wondered what _real_ Quidditch looked like.

* * *

"That was _so_ awesome!" Bridget said happily as they left the stadium. She was almost skipping in her place between Harry and Ginny. "That catch was _spectacular!"_

"And those brooms," Ginny added. "I'd kill to have a Firebolt."

"At least you know _how _to fly," Bridget complained as the two girls linked arms. She sighed dramatically, although her ear-to-ear smile never faltered. "I've never even been _on _a broomstick."

"I'll teach you to fly," Harry offered. "I mean, if you want to." Bridget's beaming face was enough of an answer and Harry ducked his head slightly before turning to Ginny. "And you can have a go on my Firebolt when we get back to the Burrow, Ginny."

"I heard the tail pulls to the left."

"Just a rumor. If anything, it pulls a bit to the right."

It wasn't long before they had reached the tents, and, too excited to sleep, ended up sitting around the kitchen table, drinking hot chocolate and arguing over the match. Instead of joining in on the conversation Hermione and Ginny used the opportunity to seize all of Bridget's attention.

"What was all that with Malfoy?" Ginny asked. "He talked to you _civilly_ even though you were with _us._ He _hates_ us."

"I have no idea," replied Bridget, sounding every bit as confused as she felt. "At first I thought he was doing it just to make Harry mad, but now I'm not so sure." She looked up at Ginny. "It couldn't be because of Uncle Albus, could it?"

"No, there has to be something else. Malfoy wouldn't normally be that courteous unless you've already been sorted into Slytherin or you're from a family he considers to be equal in status to his. Professor Dumbledore, and the rest of his family, are considered Muggle-Lovers by people like the Malfoys," Hermione answered. "Do you know anything about your family history? Perhaps he recognized your surname."

"I know pretty much nothing about the magical aspect of it, and I'm not even sure how much of the Muggle part is true." There was a pause as all three girls pondered what Malfoy's motivation could be.

"What language were you speaking?" asked Hermione curiously. "It seemed familiar, but I didn't recognize it."

"Hawaiian," Bridget and Ginny said simultaneously. Bridget stared at the other girl.

"Oh, well, that explains it."

Bridget turned to stare at Hermione and then looked back at Ginny. "Huh?"

"Hawaiian is considered to be one of the Magical Languages, along with Latin, English, and a variety of others. The Hawaiian race has one of the highest magical turnout rates. Ninety percent of those with at least a quarter Hawaiian blood, and ninety-eight percent of those who are at least half-Hawaiian are magical. It's been theorized that the Hawaiians were the magical population of the Polynesian cultures, who immigrated to a source of 

natural magic. That theory also explains why the magical turnout rate for the other Polynesian races is significantly less than the average."

She took a deep breath before continuing, "The branch of magic that originates in Hawai'i is a particularly potent one, drawing from natural magic itself, and, although we aren't taught it at the Ordinary Wizarding Level, some of our most basic spells come from it. One such spell is _Alohamora_, which is drawn from the Hawaiian word—"

"Aloha," Bridget muttered to herself, "meaning welcome, good-bye, or love."

Hermione nodded. "Right," she said. "Most pureblood families in the United Kingdom and America learn both the language and customs at some point, and the upper-class families of most, if not all, magical communities can converse in Hawaiian fluently, just like other Magical Languages.

"Because of the strong magical aspects of Hawaiian culture, Hawaiians themselves, especially those who have strong political or royal connections, are considered by _our_ upper class to be equals."

Bridget stared at her for a bit, ignoring the commotion at the table around them, before shaking her head. "This is so weird."

* * *

Bridget shot up in bed, breathing heavily, her eyes wide with fear. That was, really, all she could remember from her dream. She closed her eyes, resting her head in her hands. Fear, darkness, and a sense of doubt or… skepticism, or …something, like it wasn't supposed to be happening like that… like something was different, wrong. And… and screams, and horrible cheering—the kind of cheering a bully got, the kind that made her feel sick.

Her eyes shot open again. Those weren't the sounds replaying from her dream— they were coming from outside. Oh crud.

"Ginny! Hermione! Bridget! Get up!" Mr. Weasley shouted as he ran into their tent.

Bridget jumped out of the top bunk, quickly putting on her shoes. She grabbed the jacket Mrs. Weasley had provided (hers was in her trunk, back at the Burrow), and stuffed her arms in the sleeves as Mr. Weasley shook

Ginny awake.

They emerged from the tent a few seconds later, everyone wide awake and clothed in jackets, pajamas, and shoes. Jet stopped short when she saw what was going on outside, standing frozen in place until Harry pulled her towards the others.

It looked like a war zone. Fires had sprung up in seemingly random places, and several tents had collapsed. There were people everywhere, some running towards the woods and others crowding around a group of wizards who were wearing the same white masks and long hooded black robes Bridget had seen on her first night in England. They were—oh, my— they were levitating_ people_ and doing horrific things to that poor Muggle family.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over the chaos as he rolled up his sleeves. "You lot— get into the woods and _stick together._ I'll come fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Mr. Weasley turned and ran after Charlie, Bill, and Percy, towards the crowed of jeering people and the Roberts Family. The Hogwarts students were now alone, and, considering who was in their little group, in a lot of danger.

"C'mon," Fred said, grabbing Ginny's hand and pulling her towards the woods. They followed, Harry taking Bridget's hand and holding it tightly.

Once they had reached the trees they looked back. The crowd had gotten closer and larger, and the Ministry officials seemed to be having difficulty getting to the central group of wizards. Those _poor_ Mugg— oh, crud. _She _didn't have a wand, and, even worse, she wouldn't really know how to use one even if she did. She was almost as defenseless as those Muggles, except she could do accidental magic and kinda use a wand if she came across one. She tightened her grip on Harry's hand and tried to quash the fear rising in her stomach.

The walked along the now-unlit path was nothing like it had been earlier. Frightened witches and wizards were pushing each other, trying to get as far away from the chaotic camp as they could in the quickest time possible, and the sounds surrounding them were completely different. Instead of the good-natured greetings they had heard earlier, people were frantically yelling out names and children were crying.

"Ow!"

"What happened?" asked Hermione fretfully. "Ron, where are you?" She huffed in frustration. "Oh, this is stupid— _lumos!" _

Her wand lit up and they could see that Ron was sprawled on the ground.

"Tripped over a tree root," he said as he glared at the offending plant and stood up.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," sneered a voice from behind them.

They spun around and Harry stepped in front of Bridget. She peered around him; Draco was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest, and Harry was already glaring at him. There was no way this would turn out okay.

Ron swore at him.

"Language, Weasley," Draco replied with a mean grin. "Hadn't you better be hurrying up along now? You wouldn't like _her_ spotted, would you?" He shot a pointed look at Hermione.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked boldly, even though they all knew what he was suggesting.

Draco sighed. "Granger, they're after _Muggles,_" he said, sounding exasperated. "Do you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because, if you do," he shrugged, "hang around… they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

Bridget could feel Harry tense and held his arm tighter. "Hermione's a witch!" he defended angrily.

"Have it your way, Potter," Draco said, smirking. "If _you_ think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

Ron took a step forward, his red ears visible even in the meager light, before Hermione grabbed his upper arm. "You watch your mouth!" he shouted from where he was.

"Never mind, Ron," Hermione said, trying to pull him back. There was a loud bang from just beyond the woods. Bridget jumped and she heard more than one frightened scream.

"Scare easily, don't they?" Draco said with an arrogant grin. "I suppose daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to— trying to rescue the Muggles?"

"Where're _your_ parents?" Harry snarled, pulling away from Bridget and out of her grip. "Out there wearing masks, are they?"

Draco looked at Harry, amused by his anger and then grinned at Bridget. She glared back. "Well… if they were," he said lazily. "I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"

Hermione gave him a disgusted look, "Oh, come on, let's go find the others."

"Keep that big, bushy head down, Granger," he called after her as she dragged Ron away and followed an angry Harry. Ron tried to spin around again and Hermione pulled on his arm.

"Come _on,"_ she repeated.

Bridget sighed, and, after shooting a glare at Draco, attempted to leave.

It didn't quite work.

He pulled her back and pinned her to the tree he had been leaning on. He covered her mouth with his hand until the Trio was out of hearing range and out of sight. He then pulled back enough to let her stand on her own and lifted his hand from her mouth.

"What do you _want_, Draco?" Bridget asked angrily as she tried to pull her wrists out of his grip.

"What're you doing with Potter, Weasley, and Granger?"

She glared at him. "As you very well know, I'm staying with Harry and he spends part of his summer with Ron's family," she said furiously. "Now let me go."

"You'd be safer with me than with _him."_

"I'm safer with _you_ then Harry? Why?" she asked again with an ironic laugh, still trying to pull her wrists free. Bridget began contemplating kicking him in the shins… or higher. "Because your parents really are out there and wouldn't harm anyone with their son? Were Ginny and Harry right; are you really nothing more than an arrogant bully?" She jerked her wrists again, almost looking defeated, and he pushed her against the tree, tightening his grip enough to bruise. She winced and looked down, avoiding his piercing gaze. "Draco, you're hurting me."

He stiffened abruptly, loosening his grip, and she looked back up. She hadn't thought that would actually _work._

"Let. Her. Go."

It hadn't.

* * *

"Where's Bridget?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Harry stopped walking and looked around. She was right, Bridget was nowhere to be seen. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen her since…

"Malfoy!"

He spun around heatedly and began to stalk back to where they had last seen the Slytherin until Hermione grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"I'm sure she's fine, Harry," she said, trying to be comforting. "She's probably just with the twins and Ginny. Besides, from what you told us, she can take care of herself."

Harry turned sharply, looking his friend in the eye and beginning to realize that the fear and anger he felt in his stomach wasn't his own. "She doesn't have a wand to take care of herself _with;_ she used mine."

He was supposed to be the one taking care of her. Dumbledore had asked him to and he _knew _that he needed to, that it was important.

"Maybe she has yours."

Harry sighed, exasperated. "Bridget wouldn't take my wand and she's with _Malfoy._ That's where we were last."

Hermione let her hand drop from his arm. "Oh dear," she muttered.

He shouldn't have gotten angry. He shouldn't have let Malfoy get to him. If he hadn't gotten upset then he wouldn't have just _left_ her there; he wouldn't have let Malfoy _take_ her. It was his fault.

* * *

Standing behind Draco, pointing a wand at the back of his head was a very angry looking brown-haired boy.

_"Benjamin?"_ she said, her eyes wide with shock. "What are you _doing _here?"

"Let. Go," he growled again, ignoring her. Draco did so, scowling at the dark sky furiously. Benjamin circled around him cautiously and pulled Bridget behind him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine," she muttered as she rubbed her bruising wrists.

_"Stupefy,"_ he said and Draco dropped to the ground, unconscious.

"Benji!" Bridget gasped. "You can't go around _stupefying_ people!"

He ignored her again, and gave Draco a disgusted look before physically pulling her into a clearing deep in the woods.

"He was hurting you," he replied simply.

"For the love of all things holy, Ben, what's wrong with you?" Bridget said, pulling her arm out of his grasp and beginning to feel rather upset. "That doesn't give you the right to _stupefy_ him!"

"What is your _problem?"_

"You've been _lying_ to me! I have no idea what you're doing here, in a whole other freakin' time, in a world I had no idea even _existed _outside of some woman's imagination," she shouted as her eyes started to fill with tears, "and then you come and save me like I'm some damsel in distress!" ("You were!") "You're acting just like Harry 

and Remus. I wish you'd all just stop it, because it's making me feel like a helpless _child! _You're an arrogant, pig-headed jer—"

"Shh!" he said suddenly, putting a hand over her mouth. She glared at him (which, of course, he didn't notice) and, when he didn't remove his hand, kicked him the shins. Hard.

"Ow!" he yelled, clutching his leg. "What was that for?"

"You. Do. _Not._ Sush. _Me._ Benjamin Michael Hart!" she said, poking him in the chest with each word.

"I heard something," he responded through clenched teeth.

* * *

_"Ennervate,"_ Hermione muttered, gently prodding the blond boy with his wand.

Harry, however, was not nearly as gentle, and, after a few moments of patience, kicked him rather hard.

"Get up, Malfoy," he growled. "Where _is_ she?"

Malfoy sat up and gave them suspicious looks. "What?"

"Where's Bridget?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know," Draco said. He sneered at her. "But, then again, why would I tell a Mudblood?"

Harry groaned in frustration, knelt down, and roughly yanked the other boy up.

"Where is she?" he growled again.

"Some idiotic Yank came up behind me and took her," he answered before grinning maliciously. "Why, Potter—worried that you've already lost your new pet? Dumbledore won't be pleased when he finds out his precious Golden Boy got his niece kidnapped."

There were several loud bangs and a few screams from just beyond the woods.

"And he'll be even less pleased when he finds out you were the one who took her in the first place," Harry replied.

"Let's go, Harry," Hermione said from behind him. She sounded worried, which reminded him that they weren't exactly safe that close to the mob. "He doesn't know anything."

He shoved Malfoy back into the ground and stood up.

* * *

"Bridget!" a relieved voice said from behind her. She turned towards it and was almost tackled.

Her attacker then retreated, talking a mile a minute, "I'm so glad that you're okay. We were so worried; especially after Harry told us you didn't have a wand—"

"You don't have a _wand?"_ Benjamin asked incredulously, interrupting Hermione.

"No. I don't," responded Bridget quietly. If Benji had remembered anything about his friend's disposition he would have known that she had a tendency to get very quiet when she was really annoyed with someone. Unfortunately, he hadn't.

"What were you thinking, wandering around here without any sort of protection? No wonder that blond guy had you pushed up against a tree!"

"Don't _you_ yell at me, Benjamin!" Bridget shouted heatedly. "You have no right to, and I'm still_ mad at YOU!"_

"Why in the _world_ are you still—" He broke off; there were sounds coming from just beyond their sight: in the trees.

"_MORSEMORDRE!"_ an unfamiliar voice shouted from the direction they were staring.

Instantly the area was lit by a bright green light and Bridget was momentarily blinded. By the time her eyes had adjusted the lights had formed a gigantic skull with a snake jutting out from its mouth.

Bridget paled. She knew that this, this _thing_ (Dark Mark, her mind provided) was _not_ good.

They stared at it as it rose high above the forest. People, others farther in the trees, began to scream. It was the screaming that broke everyone out of their stunned silences.

"Who's there?" Harry asked, stepping towards the wood.

"Harry, come on, move!" said Hermione. She grabbed the collar of his jacket and began to pull him away.

"What's the matter?" he asked, looking between Hermione and Bridget's frightened faces after he had pulled out of his friend's grip.

"It's the Dark Mark, Harry," Hermione said, her voice trembling slightly.

"It's a symbol of Voldemort," Bridget added. She ignored the twitches the name elicited from Hermione and Ron. "In the first war it was a sign that he had attacked— or killed. I'm with Hermione, let's _go."_ She pulled his arm a bit and gave him an imploring look. "Please."

They had barely moved when there was a series of loud _pops_ and about twenty wizards Apparated into the clearing, surrounding them. Bridget quickly realized that all of them had their wands out, pointed at them, and a single word ran through her head: _Crud._

Harry pulled her and Hermione down and both Benji and Ron dropped to the ground a half-second later.

_"STUPEFY!"_ the twenty or so wizards yelled simultaneously.

They had ducked just in time. The sky above them glowed red and fiery jets of light shot across over their heads.

"Stop!" a familiar voice shouted suddenly, out of breath. "STOP! _That's my son!"_

Bridget raised her head slightly and noticed that the group of wizards right in front of them lowered their wands slightly. Mr. Weasley rushed forward; he looked absolutely terrified.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a shaky voice.

Bridget stood up unsteadily, pushing away Benji's hand when he tried to help (although Harry hadn't even bothered to offer first; he had just picked her up), and, once standing, glared at Mr. Crouch as he walked forward.

"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his wand pointed straight at them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"We didn't do that!" Bridget and Harry said in unison. They spared a glance for each other before turning back to glare angrily at Crouch.

"We didn't do _anything!" _Ron added. He shot a hurt look at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"

Crouch pointed his wand straight at him. "Do not lie, sir!" he was starting to look a bit crazy with the bulging eyes and spittle. She supposed that was because most men with bulging eyes and spittle _were_ crazy. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"So are victims and witnesses, _Mr._ Crouch," Bridget retorted. "_Innocents."_

Crouch opened his mouth again, assumingly to respond, but was interrupted by a witch in a long nightgown.

"Barty," she whispered nervously. "They're just kids, Barty; they'd never be able to—"

"Where did the Mark come from?" interrupted Mr. Weasley.

"Over there," said Hermione nervously. She pointed at the place the voice had come from. "There was someone behind the trees… they shouted words— an incantation—"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Crouch said, turning his attention to Hermione. She turned red. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy—"

"Well, _perhaps_ she's just an observant person," Bridget interrupted again; Mr. Crouch's accusations were really starting to aggravate her. "She _is _the smartest in the year and anyone who was in hearing range could tell you where it came from or that it was an incantation. He _conjured _something; I believe that would be a 'duh' moment, there."

The rest of the Ministry officials ignored Crouch— they didn't seem to think it was likely that the teenagers had conjured the Mark— and began to search the woods Hermione had pointed out.

"Yes! We've got them. There's someone here! Unconscious! It's— but— blimey…" someone shouted at the end of Bridget's tirade, preventing Crouch from responding.

"You've got someone?" Crouch shouted back. He sounded like he didn't quite believe that it had happened, and Bridget resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him in triumphant glee. "Who? Who is it?"

The person who had found someone, Mr. Diggory, emerged from the trees. He was carrying a, um, a house-elf. Bridget frowned. It seemed familiar.

"This— cannot— be," Crouch said tersely as he stared at the elf. He had gone very pale. "No—" He looked back up and walked into the woods, searching again.

"No point, Mr. Crouch," Mr. Diggory said. "There's no one else there."

Crouch ignored him and continued his hunt.

"Bit embarrassing," continued Mr. Diggory in a quieter tone. "Barty Crouch's house-elf…I mean to say…"

"Come off it, Amos," Mr. Weasley replied just as quietly, "you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah, and she _had_ a wand."

Mr. Weasley's mouth dropped open and he blinked before saying, "_What?"_

"Here, look." Mr. Diggory held up a wand that was clearly not his own. (How the hell did she know that?) "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. _No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."_

There was another sharp _pop. _Bridget jumped, stifling a yelp, and grabbed Harry's arm. He drew her closer and automatically wrapped the arm she had grabbed around her waist. Ludo Bagman had Apparated right next to Ron's father. He spun around, obviously confused, and stared up at the Mark.

"The Dark Mark!" He almost ran over Crouch's house-elf as he turned to Mr. Weasley and Mr. Diggory. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"

Crouch had reappeared with nothing. He had also somehow gotten paler and was twitching a bit.

"Where have you been, Barty? Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too— gulping gargoyles!" Obviously Bagman had noticed Winky, the poor thing. "What happened to _her?"_

"I have been busy, Ludo," Crouch ground out irritably, "and my elf has been stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why—" Bagman suddenly seemed to understand as his eyes widened and his gaze flew from the stunned elf to the Dark Mark still illuminating the sky. "No! Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!"

"And she had one," Mr. Diggory responded. "I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself." He turned to the elf and pointed his wand at her. "_Ennervate!"_

* * *

_"Priori Incantato!"_ Mr. Diggory shouted (a bit more dramatically than was necessary, in Bridget's humble opinion).

A miniature of the Dark Mark still hovering above them emerged from Harry's wand, except it was made of a grayish smoke rather than the green light the original was made of.

_"Deletrius!"_ And the mini-Mark disappeared. "So." Mr. Diggory sounding oddly… pleased with himself as he glowered down at Winky, who was trembling.

"I is not doing it!" she squeaked. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"

_"You've been caught red-handed elf!" _Mr. Diggory screamed, causing Bridget to jump in surprise and momentarily take refuge behind Harry. _"Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"_

"This is absolutely ridiculous!" Bridget said furiously, emerging from her safe haven. She seemed much more confident about speaking her mind in front of the Ministry officials than Hermione had earlier. Then again, it 

might have been the lack of sleep that made her more irritable than usual. "Look at her! I doubt she could cast a _lumos_ charm with a wand, much less conjure the Dark Mark. 'Sides, don't house-elves need permission from their owners to do _anything_? Unless Mr. Crouch over there gave Winky _permission_ to lie to you about this or use a wand then shouldn't she be thrashing herself with something?"

"Bridget's right," Mr. Weasley said in a much calmer voice. "Think about it… precious few wizards know how to do that spell…. Where would she have learned it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," Crouch added in a cold tone, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Mr. Crouch… not… not at all…"

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are _least _likely to conjure the Mark!" Mr. Crouch continued angrily. "Harry Potter— and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story?"

"You accused him first, Mr. Crouch," Bridget said icily from her place next to Harry. "You pointed your wand at him and accused him of conjuring it or knowing who did," she asked. Her voice took on a questioning tone as her eyes widened innocently, "Why would _Harry Potter_ lie to you? Don't you know his story?"

"Who _are _you?" asked Crouch, while looking like he was trying to place her and had failed in the attempt.

"I'm Bridget Griffins; we met earlier when you were talking to Mr. Weasley."

Crouch opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted yet again. This time, however, it was because a man had Apparated between him and Bridget. The man had brown hair flecked with grey and looked remarkably like—

"Benjamin Michael Hart, your mother has been going insane with worry ever since that damnable Mark was sent up! Where have you been?"

"Sorry, Dad, but I've been held up."

"What could possibly— oh, hello Bridget," he greeted, blinking owlishly at her from behind his glasses. "What happened to your hair?"

"Hey Uncle Matt, there was an, um, accident with my hair," she responded. He gave her a searching look, one that was asking if she was somehow involved in the hold up (which, admittedly, she usually was). "Oh, no. It's not _my _fault this time."

"Then _who_ is keeping my son and Bridget here?" he turned around to face Mr. Crouch and the other wizards.

The witch in the nightgown gasped and rushed forward. "President Hart," she said breathlessly. Bridget looked at Benji, who was giving her a sheepish grin. "I'm so sorry for keeping your son and his… friends here. We had absolutely no idea—"

"I'm sure you understand, Matthew, that in cases such as these we have to keep any…" Crouch's eyes flickered to Bridget momentarily before shooting back to Benjamin's father, "_witnesses_ for questioning. We've found our culprit, though, so they may leave. If you would give Mr. Potter his wand back, Amos."

"Certainly," the bearded wizard muttered before dropping the wand onto Harry's outstretched hand.

* * *

Uncle Matthew shook Mr. Weasley's hand as soon as they reached the edge of the woods. "Thank you, Arthur; it's good to know that I can get information from somebody. We'd better get back before Liz realizes that I've gone and Gwen can't cover for me anymore."

"Certainly, Matthew. It was good seeing you again, if only it had been under better circumstances."

"What's going on Benji? Why are you here _now?_" Bridget asked, giving him a look that (after years of experience) told him exactly what she was really asking. _Why didn't anyone tell me? Why have you been lying to me? Who are you? Who am __**I**__?_

"I'll explain everything later," Benjamin muttered as he said goodbye to her. "Just don't blow up at me next time."

"Can't promise that." She glared at him. "Hell, I _won't_ promise that."

He waved and gave her another grin before his father Apparated them both away and Mr. Weasley led them out of the trees.

Bridget gave Harry a nervous look as they walked back to the tents. He hadn't let go of her since Bagman's arrival and, frankly, she was glad for it. There were only a few other people who could make her feel that safe, and he was the only one who hadn't really done anything to earn it. It was a little weird, actually.

"Um, Harry?" she muttered once they had separated themselves slightly from the Weasleys and Hermione.

"Yeah?"

"Those were Death Eaters at Privet Drive, weren't they?"

He looked at her for the first time since the Harts had left. "I think so."

"Are we gonna tell the others?"

"I dunno, maybe, but not right now."

They fell into a companionable silence, with Bridget leaning heavily on him as they walked. She yawned and suddenly a thought occurred to her. "So, Mr. Malfoy's working for Voldemort?"

"Of course he is; he gave Ginny the diary. Why else would he have done that?"

That didn't seem quite right to her, but Bridget didn't have any argument other than 'because he's evil?' so she just nodded. "I guess so."

"It's been a long night, you'll feel better after you have a good night's sleep."

It wasn't until much later that night that Bridget finally fell asleep.

When they had made their way back to the tents everyone had been too worried and hyped up to get to sleep, not to mention the fact that the questions that were running through most of their heads couldn't really wait until morning.

She had been very quiet during the post-riot discussion, which mostly seemed to be about house-elves and Voldemort. She had just helped to patch up Bill, Charlie, and Percy, who had all sustained minor injuries in the scuffle, while they and Mr. Weasley had explained the specifics concerning Death Eaters, Voldemort, and the Dark Mark.

It hadn't taken her very long to realize that she already knew all of the information they were giving, and it had taken her an even shorter time to realize that this scared her immensely.

They had retreated to their beds not long after she had cleaned up the blood caused by Percy's broken nose, and, despite her exhaustion, she had found it extremely difficult to fall asleep. There had been a rather strong feeling of foreboding haunting her all day and she had been able to ignore it, but now it was almost unbearable. As she finally drifted off to sleep, still shaking and trying to fight off tears she didn't know why she wanted to shed, an unusual thought drifted to the forefront of her mind.

_And, so it begins…._

* * *

**Author's End Notes:** I'm actually quite happy with this chapter; it's the longest I've done so far and it was the first scene that came to mind. Please, please, please review. I'm begging you. I don't even need constructive criticism, I just want acknowledgement for my hard work (or laziness, whichever). All you have to do is say 'nice work' or ' I hated it' or something. However, flames will be used for light and heat during the post-earthquake blackouts.

Special thanks _**SerenityRose016**_ for reviewing!

(1) Good evening.

(2) Your name is very beautiful.

(3) Thank you very much.

(4) Foreigner. (Literally "without breath" as the Hawaiians thought that the first white people were gods, and, therefore, didn't breathe) Usually used to mean someone who isn't from Hawai'i. Often used to refer to people of European ancestry.

_**Next chapter:**__ Mrs. Weasley proves her mollycoddling skills and Bridget becomes the first student in Hogwarts Summer School Transfer Program. She finally finds out who her tutor will be and meets the infamous Professor Severus Snape._

**First Posted: **8/11/07

**Last Updated: **6/6/08


	7. And Not Before

_**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Harry Potter. I don't even want to, really. It seems like a lot of hard work. Although, I wouldn't mind it all being real. –wistful look- Anyways, I do own Bridget Griffins, anyone else you don't recognize, and original plot. The recognized plot and dialogue (as little as it is in this chapter) comes from Chapter 10, "Mayhem at the Ministry," in _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ and from Chapter 8, "The Potions Master," in _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_.

_**Author's Notes:**_Here it finally is. I apologize for the extremely long wait, but I had some personal issues, there was the release of the final Harry Potter book, and the start of my first year of university. I can honestly promise that the next chapter will be up in either one or two weeks.

* * *

Chapter Six: And Not Before

"_The past is the present, isn't it? It's the future, too." Eugene O'Neill_

For the second time since she had left Hogwarts (and had not been unconscious or otherwise distracted) Bridget didn't want to argue when Harry wrapped his arm around her waist protectively. In fact, she was so shaken from the previous night that instead of touching the Portkey like everyone else, she turned towards him and buried her face in his shoulder, causing him to tighten his hold on her, and, most likely (although Bridget was stubbornly refusing to admit so to herself), give her yet another worried look.

She was glad that Jo Rowling had obviously never traveled by Portkey because it wasn't half as horrible as she had made it out to be in the books. There was no bumping of shoulders or the like, only having your feet slammed into the ground like you had jumped off a high wall, a plunging stomach, and a feeling of extreme disorientation. It really wasn't all that bad.

She was still glad Harry was there.

"Oh! Thank goodness, thank _goodness_!"

Bridget winced at Mrs. Weasley's shrill, worried voice. It wasn't exactly what she felt like hearing after a long, difficult, and rather frightening night. Harry loosened his grip on her, but she didn't move. After all, she was still a little dizzy.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked in a worried voice, leaning back and looking down at her.

Bridget sighed and backed away after another second. "I'm just a little tired," she said.

It took an hour for Mrs. Weasley to calm down, fuss over and feed them all, and send almost everyone out of the room. She did, however, keep Bridget back. Mrs. Weasley poured the girl a cup of tea (a beverage Bridget had never really been overly fond of), and shooed away Harry, who had been hovering near the door.

Bridget stared between the matronly woman sitting across from her and the cup of tea nervously.

"Bridget, dear," Mrs. Weasley started kindly, "how are you doing?"

"Um, fine," she responded uncertainly.

"You're not feeling ill at all?" the woman questioned. "All my boys are being gentlemen?"

"No and yes."

Mrs. Weasley gave her another look, as if she was simultaneously disappointed about Bridget's short, non-descriptive answers and worried. Bridget found it a little unnerving.

"Well, Remus flooed yesterday— obviously before we learned about the incident— and informed me that someone would be by tomorrow morning to take you to Hogwarts to discuss your schooling."

She just _really _wanted to get out of there. "Okay."

"You'll be going by Floo; as long as you're back before nightfall it shouldn't disturb your Bond."

"Right."

There was another long pause before Mrs. Weasley said, "You may go along now, dear; I have to feed the chickens."

Bridget quickly set down the still-full cup of tea and muttered some sort of cross between a thank-you and a good-bye before rushing out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Hey, Bridget, do you want to play Quidditch with us?" Ron asked cheerfully after he almost ran her over coming down the stairs.

Bridget held onto the railing (the only thing that had kept her from falling) and contemplated going with them. She shook her head. "Nah, I'm good."

Ron gave her a bright smile, looking more like a six year old than a sixteen year old, "Okay then; see you later."

Harry paused as he followed his excited friend and gave her an unreadable look. "Are you sure you don't want to come?" he asked. "I could teach you to fly."

In all honesty, Bridget had been planning on finding him to get some information, but she supposed that she could get it just as easily from Hermione or Ginny. Besides, he needed to relax and he wasn't going to if he was worrying about her falling off a broomstick.

"That's okay," she said, smiling. "I'll just go bond with Hermione or som—"

"Harry are you coming or _not_?" Ron yelled up the stairs.

He hesitated, looking at her worriedly.

"I'll be fine, Harry."

"Ron! Will you _watch_ where you're going!" Ginny appeared and stopped suddenly at the sight before her, surprised by their presence. There was a short, awkward pause. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked, looking between the two.

"Nope," Bridget said quickly as she gave her a friend an almost desperate look. This staircase was way too small to be holding any sort of conversation, and she abruptly realized how close she was standing to Harry. Jet cleared her throat and turned back to Ginny, "Do you want to go bother Hermione?"

"Sure," she said slowly, "we'll drag her out of whatever ancient, no-one-else-has-looked-at-in-decades, 20-pound book she's reading today."

Bridget smiled brightly at Harry, who was still hesitating. "See, Harry, I'll be fine with Ginny."

"You two look remarkably alike," Hermione stated. Bridget and Ginny looked at each other curiously.

"Well, that's a nice hello, Hermione," Ginny said, sounding amused

"No, really," Hermione insisted. "I can't believe I hadn't noticed it before, but you could pass as cousins, or even sisters."

Bridget shrugged, "It's probably just the hair." She glanced out the window and saw an unfortunately familiar owl outside. Her eyes widened and she groaned, startling Hermione and Ginny. "Oh, God, that _jerk._ He's doing this on _purpose._"

She strode over to Ginny's window and opened it to reveal a large eagle owl, which flew in, dropped an envelope on Ginny's bed, and perched itself on her headboard.

"That's Malfoy's owl," observed Hermione. Bridget ignored her and opened Draco's letter.

_Dear Bridget Ashlyne,_

_I would like to extend my sincerest apologies _(Bridget quirked an eyebrow, Draco was apologizing?) _for the incident that occurred on the night of the Quidditch World Cup finals. I would appreciate it very much if you would also extend my apologies to Miss _(there was small blotch of ink here, as if he had hesitated) _Granger for my most unwelcome comments._

_I understand that this is very short notice, but I would like to invite you to spend the remainder of the summer holidays at Malfoy Manor. I can assure you that suitable accommodations would be made and my mother is most anxious to make a proper acquaintance with you._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco_

She then pulled a small sheaf of parchment and a self-inking quill from her pocket (even in the Wizarding world she felt uncomfortable without some way of writing her thoughts out) and wrote,

_Sorry, Draco, but, as you know, I cannot accept your invitation, especially without permission from Great-Uncle Albus._

_See you at school,_

_Bridget_

Bridget gave the short response to Draco's owl before turning back to her somewhat shocked friends. "Draco says that he's sorry for the things he said to you, Hermione. He also invited me for a nice visit," she said cheerfully. She clapped her hands together. "Now, who wants to help me figure out what the _hell_ he's trying to accomplish with me?"

"Did Dumbledore tell you _why_ you're here?" Ginny asked after they had exhausted their Malfoy's Possible Motive Ideas.

Bridget frowned. "No, and _I_ can't figure out a reason that doesn't sound like it comes from some fanfic."

"What's a 'fanfic'?" Ginny asked after she and Hermione had exchanged confused looks.

Bridget looked at Ginny and shook her head, "Believe me, you don't want to know."

"If you're involved with both Professor Dumbledore and Harry, it probably has something to do with You-Know-Who," Hermione said after a moment. "But, I'm sure that the Headmaster has a reason for not telling you."

"I honestly don't _care_ if he has a reason or not," Bridget said heatedly. She really didn't like the idea of someone using her for their own good (or the good of the world, for that matter), without somehow informing her first. "If it involves me then he _should _tell me about it."

She ignored Hermione and Ginny's incredulous stares. "Anyways, it's possible that Voldemort's," she again ignored the two girls' reactions, "the reason I'm here; but, really, how important could one person be? Why would they spend all that effort on _time travel,_ of all things, for _me?"_

"The Headmaster is just one person," said Hermione solemnly, "as are You-Know-Who, and Harry. Bridget, it only takes one person to change the world. If Professor Dumbledore went through all that trouble then you probably are that one person." She straightened up and her voice took on a business-like tone. "Now, do you two have any ideas, at all? Bridget, is there anything in the previous," she paused, "books that could give us a clue?"

Bridget shook her head. "Not that I can remember, but my memory's been a bit off since Uncle Albus suppressed the other ones. I know that I should know more." She groaned. "God, I wish I had my books."

* * *

"FRED AND GEORGE _WEASLEY_, WHAT _WERE_ YOU THINKING_?"_ Bridget slowed her descent down the stairs as she listened to Mrs. Weasley's shouting. "HE'S A HOGWARTS _PROFESSOR!_ YOU COULD HAVE POISONED HIM! YOU COULD HAVE _KILLED _HIM!"

Bridget paused outside the kitchen door. She wasn't about to walk in if Mrs. Weasley was in a not-so-good mood. "EXACTLY _HOW_ LONG IS THIS SUPPOSED TO LAST?" There was a pause. "_PERMANENT? _WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU THINK IT'S _PERMANENT?_" There was another, shorter, pause. "THAT WAS _NOT_ AN INVITATION TO SPEAK FREDRICK GIDEON WEASLEY! BOTH OF YOU— OUTSIDE! DE-GNOME THE GARDEN WHILE I THINK UP A PROPER PUNISHMENT!"

There was a loud scramble and a door banged shut. Bridget assumed that the twins had left, but she still waited a few moments before deeming it safe to enter, and cautiously went into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was sitting at the table, apologizing to a young man who was about the same age as Nate and Xavier; he was probably the "someone" Mrs. Weasley had mentioned yesterday who would take her to Hogwarts.

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley," she said.

"Good morning, Bridget. Sit down and I'll get your breakfast."

Bridget sat down across from the newcomer and looked at him warily. He was rather handsome and seemed strangely famil— Oh God. Bridget felt her face heat up.

"_Remus?"_ she said incredulously, her face a brilliant shade of pink.

"Um, hello, Biddy," replied Remus.

"What _happened _to you?" she asked.

Mrs. Weasley set down a plate full of bacon and egg sandwiches. "Fred and George tested one of their products on him— _and_ they've managed to de-age him." She paused. "They believe that it might be permanent."

"It's okay, Molly," Remus said calmly as Bridget continued to stare at him, open-mouthed. "They have actually found a solution to a problem I had recently run into." He turned to Bridget, who was slowly chewing on a sandwich and still staring at him, wide-eyed with shock and awe. "We should go; Albus is expecting us. Are you ready to Floo?"

Bridget nodded and swallowed. "I can go by myself this time."

* * *

"I told you that I could do it myself," Bridget said triumphantly after literally stumbling out of the fireplace and into his arms.

Remus quirked an eyebrow. "Right," he said dryly, "which is why _I_ am the only thing that kept you upright."

Bridget looked down, realized where she was, and backed away, her face red. She sat down in one of the chairs, and looked around at the strange gizmos that were in the Headmaster's office, determinedly refusing to meet his amused gaze.

After a few moments of that, Remus cleared his throat nervously. "Biddy? I have something to tell you," he said. Bridget's gaze sharpened and she sat up straighter. His tone wasn't right.

"What's wrong, Remus?" she asked.

"You'll find out sooner or later, so I decided that I would just tell you myself. I've never done this before, usually people find out on their own," he said quickly. He paused, his eyes flickering up to her before back down to his hands. "I'm a werewolf."

Bridget blinked at him. "You're a werewolf?" she asked blandly. He paused again, then nodded, still not meeting her gaze. "Um, Remus," she said, "I really don't—"

"I understand that you may not want to talk to me again, but the information given about…" he interrupted quickly, startling her. Obviously, he didn't think that what she had been about to say was good.

"Remus?" He ignored her.

"…a bit embellished. With the Wolfsbane Potion, which…"

"Um, Remus?"

He continued to ramble on. "I'm really not as dangerous as one hears, although you still shouldn't…"

This was getting a bit annoying. "Remus!" She huffed when he didn't respond and her eyes narrowed. "Remus, I don't _care_!"

"Nevertheless—" He stopped speaking and looked up hopefully. "You— you don't?" he asked hesitantly.

"No," she frowned to herself, "well, yes." She noticed his face fall a little, and quickly spoke again. "I don't care in the way you're thinking, though, I think. I dunno." She shook her head as if to clear it. "Anyways, I care about it like I'd care about your allergies or birthday. It's a part of you, and a rather important thing to know, too. If you do the best you can to control what you can; that's really all anyone can expect, and all I need to feel perfectly comfortable with it."

Bridget stopped speaking, and there was an awkward pause as he stared at her, his eyes shining a bit. She slowly began to turn red.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, making her even more uncomfortable.

"Dumbledore, what do we do now?" Bridget jumped about a foot in the air (which, apparently, _is_ possible when sitting down). She turned around cautiously and stared at Uncle Albus' closed door. "We can't cancel it— the Daily Prophet's already been told and all those galleons have already been spent."

"Now, now Cornelius, I have already looked into the matter and other arrangements have been explored. The necessary parchments have already been owled to your office." The voices were directly outside the door now. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have some family business to take care of. I'm sure you can see yourself out."

"Of course, Dumbledore… if you're sure," Fudge said distractedly as his voice faded and Uncle Albus opened his door.

"Good morning, Bridget Ashlyne, Remus," he said pleasantly as he entered the room and sat down behind his desk.

"Good morning, Uncle."

"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore."

"I see you've solved our dilemma, Remus," Uncle Albus said, his eyes twinkling.

"Actually, it was Fred and George Weasley."

"Splendid, I shall have to remember to speak with them. Now, Bridget, I'd like you to meet your new tutor, Remus Lupin."

Bridget looked from Uncle Albus to Remus and then back to Uncle Albus. "Well, _that,_ I should've expected."

* * *

"Harry, may I have a word?" Mr. Weasley asked around mid-morning.

Harry looked up from the chessboard (he was losing horribly to Ron again). "Sure." He followed Ron's dad into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

He didn't know what Mr. Weasley could possibly want to talk to him about, but it must be important if he didn't want to have the conversation in front of Ron and Hermione. He just hoped it wasn't anything like the discussion they had had about Sirius the year before. Or when he had given him the Talk the summer before that.

"This morning I was, um, examining a fellytone when it occurred to be that you were raised by Muggles," Mr. Weasley began. Harry stared at him; he'd have thought that after six years Mr. Weasley would have figured that out before now, "and, as such, you would not have all of the knowledge about Magical Bonds that a pureblood would."

Harry perked up. Hermione hadn't been able to find out much information about Bonds in her books, and Ron had said that they were all told about them when they graduated and it was a secretive thing, so he didn't think that he'd be able to get information from anyone. They had assumed that they would have to wait for the Hogwarts Library; it was an assumption that now seemed to be completely incorrect.

"Usually, I talk to the boys once they leave Hogwarts, because Bonds don't normally occur until you're of-age, but I think that we can make an exception for your situation," Mr. Weasley said. "The first thing you need to know is that Magical Bonds are very powerful, almost unbreakable, and, at first, they can be very restricting, but that will change over time.

"The strength of the Bond depends on the magical strength of the people bonded. It takes people who are very strong magically to be bonded before they reach magical maturity. The stronger the involved are, the stronger the Bond is. You can feel extreme emotions, and when things get difficult physical contact may be necessary. Over-protectiveness is not uncommon, and it can also make feelings that are already there stronger…"

* * *

"Biddy? Are you alright?" Remus asked.

"I have no idea what I just spent the last half-hour talking about," Bridget said, sounding dazed.

He shrugged. "It's Professor Dumbledore, it'll eventually make sense."

"I guess so."

He clapped his hands together, startling Bridget. "Now, this is the quickest way to get from Dumbledore's office to McGonagall's." Remus gestured at the wall across from the stone gargoyle that guarded her great-uncle's office.

"The wall?" she asked curiously as she poked one of the stones.

He looked down the hallway, making sure that it was completely empty, before tapping three of the stones with his wand. Magic surged through the wall and Bridget pulled back her hand. She watched, slightly amazed, as the stones moved aside to reveal a passageway.

He nodded, grinning in an almost cheeky way. Bridget got the feeling she was seeing the same Remus James and Sirius had grown up with."The wall."

Remus lit his wand and took her hand to guide her safely through the dark entrance (she had tripped three times just in her Uncle's office and it was fully lit there), explaining as they made their way through it, "We found it one night after Dumbledore had caught us sneaking to the kitchens.

"Sirius and James thought it was for the Headmaster's secret, amorous meetings with the Deputy Headmistress. _I've_ always thought that it was a quick way to get to either office in case of an emergency; there aren't any moving staircases to slow them down."

Remus stopped walking suddenly and she stopped short, almost walking into his back.

"I see you're showing Miss Griffins around Hogwarts, Mr. Lupin," a stern voice said to them as they exited the "secret" passage. The voice gave Bridget the distinct impression that she had done something wrong and was going to get detention for it, many, many detentions. And she hadn't even begun school yet.

Remus looked up guiltily and she followed his gaze. The woman's stern image matched her stern voice. She had impeccably neat burgundy robes, and her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She was also staring down at them through her square rimmed glasses (which was a rather remarkable feat as she was shorter than Remus, and only a couple of inches taller than Bridget, if at all). She just _had_ to be Professor McGonagall.

"Follow me," she said.

They followed her down the hall and into a small room with a desk, five chairs ("There were only two the first term of our first year"), and walls covered in bookshelves that were filled with books.

McGonagall sat down behind her desk and gave Remus a level look. "Mr. Lupin, I realize that you were the most responsible of your friends, but considering your new status and the fact that you were, and still are, a Marauder (yes, Mr. Lupin, I do know about that ridiculous nickname), I must remind you not to drag Miss Griffins into any mischief making that could cost Gryffindor points. Am I understood?"

"Perfectly, Professor McGonagall," Remus replied.

"Good," McGonagall turned her penetrating gaze from Remus to Bridget. "Now, Miss Griffins, regarding your Transfiguration lessons, Mr. Lupin has always been one of my best students and he was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor we've seen in years, so I trust him to set your curriculum. But, I would still like to see you once every two weeks to analyze your progress. Hopefully, by the end of the year you will be able to sit the exams with your fellow sixth years and take your F.O.W.L.s. If you need any extra assistance my office hours are from four to dinner, Monday thru Friday."

Bridget stared at her, a bit overwhelmed, before asking, "Er… what are F.O.W.L.s?"

"Foundational Ordinary Wizarding Levels. It shows students what classes they excel in, and forces them to consider what classes they will be able to continue as well as future career possibilities. You will take your O.W.L.s next year and N.E.W.T.s in tenth along with any professional level tests.

"Most of those in your year have already been informed of what classes they will need to study more, and which ones they are doing well in, as well as several of their best options concerning future careers. However, in light of your unique situation, that might prove to be a little difficult and we shall postpone our discussion until the end of the year. If you have any questions you can ask Lupin or me.

"I am also sure that Mr. Potter would be more than willing to teach you how to fly; it would be a much better learning environment than Madam Hooch and the first years."

"He already offered, actually."

McGonagall gave Bridget a (supposedly) rare smile. "Now, if you wish to get to Diagon Alley today, you should hurry along and see the rest of your professors."

* * *

"You do realize that I probably won't remember any of this, right Remus?" Bridget inquired amiably as they made their way to their last stop at Hogwarts.

Remus nodded thoughtfully, "I know."

"Right then, so now that I don't have to pretend to pay attention, I have a question for you."

"Go ahead."

"What is everyone keeping from me?" she asked. Her voice had taken on a serious note.

"Why would you think that people are keeping things from you?"

"I've had somber looks, knowing smiles, and one choked sob," she listed, before giving him a pointed look. "Something is going on, and I want to know what it is."

"Nothing's going on, Biddy," he replied as they took yet another turn.

"And there's that!" she exclaimed. "Not that it's a problem, or anything, but the only people who call me Biddy on a regular basis are—"

"Oh, look, we're here," Remus said cheerfully.

Bridget sighed and gave him a skeptical look, which he promptly ignored. Fudge, she wasn't going to get any information out of him now.

"Now, don't let Severus scare you. He tries to make it a point not to kill his students until after commencement."

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say," she replied blandly as he opened the door to the dungeon classroom.

The first thing that Bridget thought when she saw Severus Snape was that he looked like a very unhappy man. He was sitting at his desk in a darkish Potions lab, wearing all black, and glowering at the papers on his desk from behind a curtain of greasy black hair. The second thought that ran through her mind was that the lab needed more light, and the third was that he desperately needed to wash his hair. A well-aimed balloon full of soapy water would do wonders for it.

He looked up briefly, saw who it was, and then turned back to his papers. "Sit," he growled. Bridget had never had anyone growl something at her before. Oh, well, something new happens every day.

Now Bridget was generally a very cheerful person, and very optimistic. Quite often she, to spite her pessimistic and sometimes grumpy friends, decided to act especially cheerful. It always garnered amusing reactions, and she wondered how the dour Potions Master would react. She truly doubted that he would be able to intimidate her cheery-ness out of her by stalking around and generally acting menacing (she already had more than enough experience with that sort of technique). At the very least, it would be interesting.

She wasn't disappointed.

By the time he looked up he had probably assumed that she would be nervous and possibly fidgeting. Instead, he found that she was sitting attentively with her hands folded neatly in front of her, and a small smile tugging at her lips.

Snape stared at her for a few moments (while she smiled pleasantly back) before his eyes flickered over to Remus. He sneered at his classmate. "Lupin."

"Severus," Remus replied politely, nodding in response.

Bridget could feel the temperature of the already chilly room drop a few degrees, but tried her best to ignore it. She was quite good at ignoring hostility between two people; it came from experience.

"I see you've finally decided to grace us with your presence, Miss Griffins."

"I suppose so, sir," she responded cheerfully.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making…," he started while giving her a rather intense stare.

Bridget suppressed a laugh as the man continued his speech. She couldn't believe he was using the same one he had in Harry's first year. Did that mean he used it with all of his students, or was she just really _special_?

"…bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death."

Snape paused and she bit the inside of her mouth, trying even harder not to laugh. Bridget could recite this bit of the book from memory. Not only did it show his remarkable ability with words, but it was also rather ridiculous. In person, though, it was a lot less silly, and would have been intimidating if she hadn't been already heard it from several people and read it herself.

"Where would you find a bezoar?" he asked suddenly. Oh come _on _now. The same questions, too? This was hilarious.

"Now, see here, Sn—" Remus started.

"In the stomach of a goat, or an apothecary, most likely," she responded, cutting Remus off. He sat back down, surprised by her (correct) answer. "There are probably other places, too, but those are the most common."

"And what does it do?"

"It's an antidote for most poisons."

"What is the Draught of the Living Death?"

"An extremely powerful sleeping potion made from asphodel and an infusion of wormwood."

"What is the difference between aconite, and," he smirked nastily at Remus, who was glaring at him, "wolfsbane."

Bridget smiled agreeably, most likely annoying Snape even more. "Absolutely nothing. It's two names for the same plant; another name for it is monkshood. All are poisonous if not brewed properly, or I suppose if it is brewed properly with that intent in mind."

Snape scowled. "Because Lupin is almost as hopeless at potion brewing as Longbottom is, I have been forced to teach you myself.

"You shall read the first hundred entries in _One-Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi,_ and the introduction and first two chapters of _Magical Drafts and Potions._ There will be a quiz on the subject matter in your first class.

"I am a very busy man, therefore, Draco Malfoy will be tutoring you until both he and I feel that you've reached the fifth year level, at which time I will take over your studies. Do you have any questions?"

* * *

"I can't believe you asked him that," Remus said, the shock evident in his voice, as Bridget brushed the ash off of his outer robe.

"Yes, well, _I_ can't believe I _said_ that."

"He uses the same speech and questions every year, but no one has ever called him on it before."

"I didn't _mean_ to."  
Remus grinned. "I think you've started off great."

"I thought he was going to—" she started blankly before turning to Remus incredulously. "_What?"_

"That was brilliant!"

"Have you _lost_ your _mind?" _she asked. He continued grinning, and Bridget sighed. "You have, haven't you? My tutor has lost his mind. The man who's supposed to teach me six years of magic is crazy. Wonderful."

He ignored her. "Come on, let's go to Ollivanders; I'll feel better once you have a wand."

"Why's that?" Bridget muttered in an amused voice. "I'm still not gonna know how to use it. What am I supposed to do? Shove it in my attacker's eye?"

* * *

Bridget was bored. She had been in the wandmaker's store for at least a half-hour trying wands (none of which were right for her, apparently). It was boring beyond comprehension, and her arm was started to ache a little.

Mr. Ollivander, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of his life. Bridget frowned; he was an annoying, weird old man.

"Ah, yes, let's see if this one will do," he began for what must have been the fiftieth time as he handed her yet another wand. As soon as she touched this one something behind her exploded. "Nope, not that one."

He plucked the wand out her hand and put it aside. Ollivander paused before retreating to the back and turned his strange, silver-colored eyes to her. "I wonder, Miss Griffins, if you are of Hawaiian ancestry."

"Um, yes, sir," she answered uncertainly as she watched him pull out yet another wand box.

"Then we shall try this one. It's 10 ½ inches, Koa wood, and cored with the plumage of the Ahimanuopele (1) or Hawaiian phoenix, a bird native to Hawaii's volcanoes. It's not one of my usual wands, but I've found that the wands cored by the Hawaiian phoenix are much better suited to those with an affinity for natural magic, or those with Hawaiian blood."

She hesitantly took hold of the wand and instantly felt warmth spread from her hand, up her arm, and to the rest of her body. At the same time a red light burst from her wand and took the shape of a large bird before disappearing.

There was a stunned silence before Mr. Ollivander spoke. "Marvelous."

* * *

"Okay, so only your school robes are left," Remus said after they had finished most of their shopping and eaten lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.

"If you say so," Bridget said distantly, not really paying him any attention.

Instead she was looking curiously at a somewhat small barn owl with large eyes. It blinked at her. She blinked back at it. It blinked again. She—

"Biddy?"

She turned away from the owl and turned to Remus, who was looking very amused.

"Hm?"

"Are you making a friend?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Bridget replied seriously. "His name is Steve."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Steve the owl?"

She nodded happily. "Yup."

"Right. Well, tell Steve good-bye and we'll go."

Bridget frowned at him, "But, _Re-_mus, Steve'll miss me."

Remus sighed and pulled her away from the pet store, both of them receiving several amused glances from other Diagon Alley patrons.

"The owl—" he started.

"Steve, Remus," she said firmly, "his name is Steve."

"_Steve _will _not _miss you!"

"You don't think I'm good enough for him?" Bridget asked, sounding hurt.

"No, Steve the _owl_ isn't good enough for _you," _Remus replied as he opened the door to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"But, then wouldn't he miss me?"

"Steve is a b—"

"Mr. Lupin!" a short, roundish woman wearing flattering dark blue robes scolded. "If you and your friends would kindly refrain from swearing here."

"Madam Malkin, Steve _is _a—"

"I do not care _what_ this Steve is; there will be no vulgar language in my establishment." She shook her head as she put away some children's robes. "If I've told you boys once, I've told you a dozen…"

She stopped talking mid-sentence, as if she had suddenly remembered something, and turned around slowly, staring at Bridget and Remus with wide eyes. "Dear Lord," she gasped. The well-dressed woman slowly placed a shaking hand over her heart.

"We're here to get Bridget's school robes," Remus said.

"Oh, yes, of course," the woman muttered. "The Headmaster owled me earlier; I'll get your measurements."

* * *

It was a very strange, and rather awkward experience. While the measuring tape had been, well, measuring her, Madam Malkin had quietly talked with Remus. Bridget had, more than once, caught the woman giving her strange looks, and, when she had paid for the items, the witch had given her a pitying glance and rushed her out of the store. It had been really weird.

"Remus, what's going on?" she asked. He had been the quietest she had seen him since her arrival and that, combined with the rest of the day's events, was freaking her out.

"We're going back to the Burrow," he replied. "Because Harry is already at the Burrow, I can Apparate with you rather than having to Floo."

She groaned. "No, not _that. _What's—?"

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Hold on, now."

She sighed. This was going absolutely nowhere, and she was getting frustrated.

It hadn't gotten any better once they had arrived at the Burrow, either. He had hurried her into the kitchen, said a quick good-bye, and Disapparated. She had stood there, glaring at the spot he had disappeared from until Ginny had walked in.

"You're back!" Ginny said once she noticed her. She glanced at the spot Bridget was staring at and gave her a strange look. "What are you doing?"

"I think I'm going to kill Remus."

"Why? What'd he do?"

"He is not telling me something important. He knows something."

Ginny looked surprised. "He's does?"

Bridget nodded, still glaring at the empty spot of floor. "Yup."

"Well, we'll talk about that later, I guess. Harry's waiting for you; I think he wants to talk to you about something."

Bridget finally looked up. "About what?"

She shrugged. "No idea, but dad accosted him earlier."

"Oh, right then, I better find him."

* * *

Remus Lupin knocked on the familiar door, and, after hearing a "come in," entered.

He took a deep breath before speaking quickly, so he wouldn't lose his nerve, "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I can't do this."

Dumbledore set down his parchment. "You can, and you will, Remus," the aged wizard replied firmly. He gesture at a chair. "Please sit."

He sat.

"I understand that this will be difficult for you, Remus, but you need to do it; she needs you to."

"Everything's wrong," Remus said faintly. He looked up sharply. "I shouldn't be the only one here!"

"You're right," Dumbledore replied comfortingly, "you shouldn't be, but we _can't change_ the past. We both know that."

Remus ran a hand over his tired face before he asked, "Have you told him, yet?"

"No, I haven't."

"He needs to know."

"And he will be told," Dumbledore paused and gave him a stern look. "When the time is right, and not before."

* * *

_**Author's End Notes: **_There's not a lot of Harry in this one. There wasn't any in my first draft, but I decided to try to explain Harry's actions a bit more than I had so far. Um… please, please review, even if you're just telling me how horrible your day was. Flames, however, will be used to re-heat Thanksgiving leftovers.

Thanks to _**Phenix, RaevenMoon, SerenityRose016, Andromeda Rising, **_and _**Prongsgrl**_(love the name) for their reviews.

(1) Actual Hawaiian words: ahi-manu-o-Pele. English translation: fire-bird-of-Pele. My translation: Pele's Phoenix or Hawaiian Phoenix. Pele is the Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes and, well, other stuff I can't remember because I'm a bad Hawaiian.

_**Next chapter:**__ Xavier makes a second appearance. They finally make it to Kings Cross and Bridget has to make an important choice._

**First Posted: **09/11/07

**Last Updated:** 6/6/08


	8. Choices

_**Disclaimer**_**: **I don't own Harry or the Sorting Hat. I do own Bridget, and anything else not recognized. Recognized dialogue comes from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, _Chapter 14: "The Triwizard Tournament." All other plot references come from other chapters in the fourth book. I also don't own Princess Ka'iulani, Queen Liliuokalani, or the history of the overthrow of the Hawaiian government.

_**Author's Notes: **_I've finally updated. Aren't you all proud of me? It's only been, like, three months or so. I believe that's a record for me. I apologize for the long wait between updates, but several important things happened including my first term at university, a rather serious illness that still isn't quite all right, and my friend Benji getting in a serious accident.

* * *

Chapter Seven: Choices

"_We are spinning our own fates, good or evil, never to be undone." Edmund Burke_

Bridget woke up slowly, relishing the warmth and safety she felt. For almost two years, longer if one counted the sporadic dream, too, her nights had been, at best, restless, and, at worst, absolutely terrifying. And it had only been once Nate and Xavier had found out that she was having the daily nightmares that she had gotten any rest at all. The two boys had outright refused to leave her alone at night (to her mother's glee, and her father's disapproval), which had usually resulted in her sleeping wrapped protectively in Nate's arms, the nightmares miraculously stopping for the time.

"Are you awake?" a low, raspy voice asked. "Or are we going to go back to sleep?"

Bridget yawned and snuggled closer, sliding her arm across his stomach before realizing that the boy she was currently laying on wasn't Nate, but Harry. To her half-asleep, exhausted mind, they had seemed awfully similar and Bridget absently wondered if she was subconsciously replacing one of her best friends with Harry. She abruptly came to her senses (she was _cuddling _with _Harry Potter, _dear heavens, there had to be something wrong with her) and pulled away as her face turned a brilliant shade of red.

"Sorry," she muttered as she sat up, brushing the hair out of her face. "I'm up." Harry stretched and sat up next to her. "We really have to stop doing this."

He yawned widely. "What?"

Bridget gave him an incredulous look. "Sleeping with—I mean, next, _next _to each other." Her face managed to turn an even darker shade of red. "Everyone's going to start thinking something's going on."

"It's expected. Apparently, we 'take comfort in each other's physical presence,'" Harry replied through a yawn, seemingly unaffected by their "expected" sleeping arrangements.

"That sounds like something Hermione would say," she said, pausing before she continued in a confused – and slightly betrayed – voice. "But, you guys said you couldn't find anything about Bonds."

Harry shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "Mr. Weasley gave me a book about them, and Hermione read it yesterday. She told me the important stuff."

"Is there anything else you didn't tell me yesterday?"

"No, I don't think so."

The two teenagers had spent the previous night (and earlier that morning) discussing the information Harry had gotten from Mr. Weasley and, apparently, the book Hermione had read for him. They had covered everything from how a Bond was created (either those Bonded were had been in a situation where Magic had decided that it was in everyone's best interest or they were the magical equivalent of soulmates and even then the Bond needed to be activated) to its degrees (anywhere from friendship—which was only a magical bond, not a Bond – to soulmates, who were always destined to be Bonded) to the number of Bonds one could have (more than one – Bond, not bond—for a single person was almost unheard of, there were only two instances known to Professor Dumbledore and, although Harry had told her about the Founders, he hadn't quite felt ready to tell her about the second set; Bridget assumed it had something to do with his parents).

_A harsh scream. Pounding feet. Bright green eyes full of fear, and anger, so much anger. Tousled midnight black hair. _

_"There isn't anything you can do," a silky smooth, deadly voice whispered. Green eyes flashed red. "You can join me, rebuild our society as it was meant to be," the offer sounded enticing, tempting even the strongest, but the voice turned hard at his next statement, "or you can die. It is your choice."_

_Shadowy figures standing at the edge of a forest, united against a common foe. "Never, Voldemort. As long as either of us live, I will oppose you." A familiar, comforting voice rang strong in the silence. The others at his side didn't need to speak (red, brown, black, and blonde hair blew in the soft breeze, normally kind eyes glinted like steel), whatever path their leader chose was theirs, too. _

_"Then you will die."_

_A green light slashed through the darkness and everything faded to black._

"Bridget?" a worried voice called as the room came into focus once again. "Bridget? Are you okay?"

"Um," the girl paused, a little befuddled by what seemed to have been some sort of waking dream, "I'm fine. Perfectly fine." That had _never_ happened before. When she had her dreams (although nightmares would be a better chosen word) she was always asleep, whether it was the normal everyday nighttime sleep or she had dozed off in class. Having one in the middle of the day was unnerving, and very frightening.

Especially because she couldn't remember a single thing about it.

"Should I call Professor—Remus?" Harry asked, concern showing in his eyes and tone.

_Angry, so very angry. A strong, comforting voice. "Never."_

Bridget shook her head again, more to clear it from the remnants of the dream than to actually answer his question, but that worked, too. "No, I'm okay. I really don't feel sick at all."

"Are you sure?"

_"Then you will die."_

"Please, Harry, don't call him."

She looked up at him imploringly, hating that she was subject to his decision whether she liked or not (not that she wasn't going to do anything she didn't want to without a fight, but it was the principle of the matter) while Harry stared back, visibly conflicted. But, luckily for both of them, he seemed to trust her judgment enough to listen. They didn't know each other well enough to really trust the other's decisions completely—or know when _not _to trust them, but this was a good step in that direction.

Bridget had the feeling (and her 'feelings' were normally right on target) that their relationship, or the lack of one, would be crucial in the war that was to come. They needed to learn how to trust each other, and to do that they needed to know each other much more (or do something incredibly dangerous and possibly stupid, such as fighting off a mountain troll with only two months of experience).

With that in mind, she decided to try another course of conversation. If what Harry said was true, they'd be left alone anyways. "So, Harry, what's your favorite color?"

He gave her an odd look. "Red."

"Very Gryffindor of you," she responded casually, ignoring his look. "Red's my favorite, too." Bridget pinned him with an innocently curious, but somehow mischievous look. "What are your views on House Elves?"

* * *

"It _is_ slavery, isn't it?" Hermione said, still ranting on Percy's earlier statements about House Elves. "You _do_ agree with me, Bridget? _Your_ country went through their Civil Rights movement and is enlightened in these matters."

Bridget warily looked up from Hermione's copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ (it was a lot more interesting that one would suspect; the school's history was surprisingly bloody). Honestly, she really hadn't wanted to get involved in this particular discussion, especially since she knew that her views didn't exactly line up with the other girl's. She had just gotten on good terms with Hermione and Bridget didn't want to be on her bad side again so soon. Oh well.

"Well, yes, it is slavery," she began cautiously. "Anytime someone isn't actually paid for his or her services, it can be considered slavery. But, you have to take into consideration their status in the government, _and_ their own desires. Attitudes and policies have to change before you can demand anyone's equality."

Hermione looked at her incredulously, and stopped her annual third re-packing of her trunk (always done, Bridget had been told by a certain amused Seeker, the day before she left for Hogwarts to make room for her new supplies). "_Excuse_ me?"

"You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped," Bridget said with a shrug as she tried to ignore the other girl's glare. "Have you ever talked to a House Elf? They may like how it is now. You can't alienate those you want to help. It's a stupid and inefficient way to get anything done."

Hermione didn't respond this time. She merely gave Bridget a withering look before turning back to her things and resuming her furious packing. Luckily, Bridget had experience with such looks, and it didn't much bother her. She had just returned to her book when Ginny entered, carrying some packages.

"Mum got your new supplies, Hermione," she said as she dropped the parcels on the bed. "She says we need dress robes, too, but we should get them during a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Dress robes?" asked Hermione, her previous animosity almost forgotten in light of the new information. "For what?"

"I asked, but she wouldn't tell me. She just said that we'd find out at school."

"Well, that was completely uninformative," Bridget observed dryly as she read on.

She was now reading about the beheading of Lawrence Doolittle, an unfortunate Ravenclaw participant in the Triwizard Tournament of 1875. She was trying to figure out how he could have been decapitated while bowling. Ah… there we go, he had to get the bowling ball from a Manticore first. That made a lot more sense now.

Who the heck came up with these ridiculous tasks?

* * *

It was still raining when Bridget woke up early the next morning. She had gotten dressed as quietly as she could (Hermione and Ginny were still sleeping at the time) and double-checked to make sure that all of her stuff was in her trunk before going downstairs to the kitchen.

It was there that she was cornered by Mrs. Weasley and given an insanely large breakfast that made her nauseous when she looked at it, and later caught by Harry trying to dispose of the aforementioned breakfast without anyone (most of all Mrs. Weasley) noticing.

"Too much?" he asked in a voice that spoke of experience in such matters as he sat down across from her.

"A little," she responded. "Would you like some?"

"Only if you eat the toast."

She pushed the plate towards him after taking off the buttered pieces of bread. "Deal."

Forty-five minutes and a second shared breakfast later they were out the door, in the rain, loading their belongings into the four taxis Mrs. Weasley had phoned from the village post office.

It was not a pleasant experience. Once the taxi drivers had loaded the heavy trunks (minus a few of Fred's unfortunate No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks) into the taxi's trunks and they had finally made it to King's Cross they were soaking wet and running slightly behind schedule.

Bridget sighed as Harry pulled her trunk out of the taxi and loaded it up with his. "You know," she started as they began to walk to Platform 9 ¾, "you really have to stop doing that."

"Stop doing what?"

"I can take care of myself. I know it may be difficult to believe, but I've somehow survived fifteen-odd years before I met you," she said firmly before allowing herself a small smile. "Although it _is_ rather sweet, just tone it down a bit."

Harry ducked his head a bit, so the fringe of his bangs covered the top of his glasses, "Oh, sorry."

Bridget stopped short, her smile sliding off her face to be replaced by a look of pure awe.

Sitting in front of her, clouds of steam billowing out of it, was a large scarlet train: The Hogwarts Express. They had passed through the barrier and she hadn't even noticed. She had walked through a seemingly _solid brick wall_ without noticing. Bridget sighed; she really had to pay more attention to her surroundings.

"You did that better than I did the first time," Harry observed.

She briefly considered telling him that she hadn't even realized that they had arrived at the Platform until she had encountered the largeness of the train, but reconsidered, and, instead, said, "I've never been on a train before."

* * *

"So, how is your first train ride so far?" Harry asked about halfway through it as he watched Bridget search through her trunk.

"It's insanely cold in here," she responded instantly. "Isn't it still supposed to be summer?"

He glared at Seamus, who was staring at Bridget's backside as she continued to look for whatever it was she needed. Harry was just glad that her skirt was long enough to cover everything necessary, although it _was_ showing quite a lot of leg. She pulled out a sweater and sat back down next to him.

"Other than this unnatural cold, it's been quite pleasant. Surprisingly, I've found that I enjoy the taste of pumpkin," she said pleasantly as she straightened out the sweater so she could put it on. Bridget frowned at the red and gold trim on it. "This isn't mine; it must be Ginny's."

"Just wear hers until we get to Hogwarts," he said as he continued to play Exploding Snap.

"I can't," she muttered with a reddening face. "I'm not a Gryffindor."

"You will be," Ron said.

"You can't predict that; I could be in any of the other Houses. We won't know until I'm Sorted." She shrugged. "For all we know, I could be a Slytherin."

Harry, along with probably everyone else in the compartment, could not see Bridget as a Slytherin; Hufflepuff _maybe, _but not Slytherin. She was just too, well, just too _nice_. But, the seriousness of her tone suggested that she thought it was a distinct possibility, leaving everyone, most of all Harry, in a sort of shocked silence. She didn't _want _to be in Slytherin, did she?

"I guess I'll go give this to Gin," she said cheerfully. Harry suspected that it was more of a cover-up for the bit of the awkwardness that had ensued rather than actual cheer, but he couldn't be sure. She had stood up and her hand was already on the door handle by the time Harry finally spoke again.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked. He didn't want her to get lost or anything; everything about Hogwarts was a little overwhelming the first time around, even if they were just on the train.

"No, I'm good," Bridget replied firmly. "I'm not going to get hopelessly lost on a train." She gave him a reassuring smile. "Although, if I'm not back in a couple of hours or so, someone should probably come find me."

Harry watched her leave before turning back to his Exploding Snap game only to find Hermione staring at him.

"Is there something wrong, Hermione?" he asked a little curtly.

"No, nothing," she said, going back to the current book she was devouring. He gave her a suspicious look before turning back to the game.

"Do you fancy her?" she asked suddenly a few moments later.

"What?" Harry asked as soon as he could force himself to speak. "No! Of _course_ not!"

"Who?" Seamus asked. Harry briefly closed his eyes, realizing that Hermione hadn't specified who she was talking about. Great.

"Bridget, of course," Hermione responded sagely.

Seamus gave him an incredulous look. "Why not? She's certainly shaggable." Hermione gave him a disgusted look. "Can you imagine her—"

"Don't talk about her like that!" Harry defended instantly. He realized a bit too late that his reaction was probably exactly what Hermione had been expecting.

"So _that's _why you were glaring at me," Seamus observed amusedly. His eyes were twinkling almost as much as Dumbledore's ever had. "I promise not to stare at your girl anymore, Potter." Dean gave the boy a pointed look, and he, with a roguish grin, amended, "Well, not in such an obvious way."

"She's _not_ my girl," Harry continued stubbornly.

"Whatever you say, Harry," Hermione replied in a voice that suggested that she didn't believe him at all. He glanced around the room, and, from the bemused looks on almost all of their faces, neither did his roommates.

For the first time in five years Harry wondered why Ginny Weasley didn't sit with them on the Hogwarts Express.

* * *

Bridget didn't understand why Ginny disappeared directly after boarding the train, but she suspected that it had something to do with habit and annoying the heck out of her. Well, the last bit probably wasn't intentional.

"There you are, Ginny," Bridget said as she entered the compartment. "This is yours." She handed the girl her sweater and plopped down in the seat next to her. "What're you doing here all alone? Tired of me already?"

"No, Becky's just off with her boyfriend somewhere and Jen's with her; Susan's sick; and I usually don't ride in the same compartment as my brother," Ginny replied.

"Alright then."

"Do you know how to play football?" Ginny asked, suddenly looking interested.

"Yeah, wait—do you mean soccer or American football?"

"The one when you kick the ball around."

"That'd be soccer." Bridget nodded as she sat up straighter with an excited smile. "Yeah, I've been playing since I was, I dunno, five or something. It's really interesting actually, and all the running keeps you in shape. Uncle Albus managed to get a bunch of my stuff and I have a soccer ball, so I could teach you when we get to Hogwarts, if you like. If I managed to teach Nate how to play, I can teach _anyone_."

Ginny gave her an odd look before asking, "Who's this Nate bloke I keep hearing about? You've mentioned him at least six times."

"I sorta grew up with him. He's British, actually, and our mothers were friends from school. He's smart, really funny, although he can be a complete brat sometimes, he's still really sweet, rather good-looking, tall– oh my God," the sappy smile faded slowly, "I like him." Her eyes widened comically as her hand hung in the air, mid-gesture. Bridget had, rather obviously, had some sort of revelation. "Oh _God, _I _like_ him."

"You didn't know that before?" Ginny asked with an amused laugh. "I could've told you that and I don't even know him."

"I can't believe I _just_ realized this," Bridget continued, not noticing Ginny's dry comment. "I figure this out _now_ of all times? Crud, I have _such_ bad timing. What the heck is _wrong_ with me? And he's not even—dear Lord." She stared out the compartment door window. She could've sworn she just saw—

"Do you think he likes you?"

"Huh?"

"Nate."

"Nate?" Bridget looked back at her briefly before standing up and going to the door. "What are you talking a— oh, just wait a second."

She stuck her head into the hall and, upon seeing her target, reached out and pulled him inside. "What are you _doing here, _Xavier_?_" she asked furiously as she checked to see if anyone had seen her long-time friend and closed the door.

"I came to check on you, Biddy," he replied. He gave her his most charming grin, the one that got him almost everything he wanted.

"On the _train?"_

It had never worked with her. Bridget hands were on her hips and she was giving him a look that simultaneously conveyed amusement and annoyance.

"I had meant to see you before it left, but I," he paused and gestured vaguely, "miscalculated."

"Jesus, why can't I just be left alone?" she muttered to herself before glaring at Xavier again. "_Now_ what do you want?"

"I need to tell you something, but you can't tell anyone. Okay?"

Bridget gave him a cautious look. "It's not something bad, or anything, is it?" she asked. He had gotten her into tight spots before with his ideas.

Xavier waived his hand dismissively. "Of course not," he replied easily, "everyone else will find out later tonight, at the Welcoming Feast. I just wanted to talk to you about it first."

"Alright then," she agreed hesitantly, still frowning.

Bridget was now quite sure she didn't really like this Serious Xavier. She had always known that he wasn't as juvenile as he seemed, but this was getting downright scary. He hadn't cracked a single joke in, well, in a _very_ long time.

"Do you want me to go?" Ginny asked. She hadn't stood up to leave.

Xavier looked at her appraisingly. "No, as long as you don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

He turned back to Bridget, who was still giving him a wary look, and began to speak again, "This year they're bringing back the—" He stopped speaking as something in his pocket began to beep. "Bloody hell!" he groaned to himself. "Sorry, Biddy, I have to go now; I ran a bit over time. Now, promise me you'll—"

"You tell me to be careful and I'll _hit_ you," she interrupted in a low voice.

Xavier sighed impatiently, "It's not that you're reckless, love; you just attract trouble. You always have. We can't have you getting hurt, or—" he broke off, looking a little sick. "I have to go."

"Xavier!"

"Bye, Biddy," he said before giving her a kiss on the cheek and disappearing into the hall.

Bridget glowered at the door, knowing full well that if she checked he would be gone. "I _hate_ it when they do that."

* * *

Harry hated it when they did that. Hermione and Ron would bicker about something stupid, then Ron would sulk and Hermione would retreat to her books. This left him, a third wheel, in a very awkward position. Malfoy's snide comments about Hermione's heritage, Ron's family, and Bridget had done nothing to help the situation.

"I'm, um, going to find Bridget," Harry said hesitantly. "We're almost there."

Ron ignored him and continued to glower at the scenery outside the window, his facial expression suggesting that he was plotting a very painful death for Malfoy. Hermione, on the other hand nodded, and returned to her book with a secretive smile. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what that secret was.

It took him twenty minutes to find Bridget and Ginny, who had already donned their robes and were chatting happily with a group of other girls that Harry only vaguely remembered as Ginny's year mates. As soon as he opened the door he got the distinct impression that he had interrupted something.

"Erm, hello," he said when they had stopped talking and stared at him. "We're almost there, Bridget. Are you going to share a carriage with me, Ron, and Hermione?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," she said, getting up from her seat. "Bye guys."

"Bye," the girls chorused.

As soon as he shut the door he could hear the girls begin to giggle. Harry glanced at the closed door nervously before turning to Bridget.

"What was that?" he asked her.

"Oh, um, nothing," she muttered back as she blushed a deep red. They walked back to their compartment in complete silence. Harry wasn't sure why, but it had become a little awkward.

"Are you ready for the Sorting?" he asked, trying to regain the companionability they had had earlier. Bridget went pale and Harry realized, a second too late, that mentioning the Sorting might not have been the best thing to say to the already nervous girl.

* * *

Bridget was nervous. She was nervous and— because of the storm and Peeves— soaking wet. She was nervous, soaking wet, and more than a little…

"Bridget Ashlyne?" … jumpy.

She emitted an undignified squeak and almost fell over.

"Are you ready, my dear?"

Bridget nodded, both looking and feeling rather queasy, and followed Uncle Albus to the front of the room. As soon as she had entered the Great Hall she had felt everyone's eyes on her, and Bridget was now trying desperately not to blush. Unfortunately, from the heat she could feel in her face, she could tell that it wasn't working very well. Crud.

Uncle Albus motioned to the Great Hall for silence. Once this was achieved he said, "Hogwarts has not had a transfer student in over twenty years. Regardless of the oddity of the situation, I would like for all of you to welcome my great-niece from Hawaii, Bridget Ashlyne Griffins, who will be joining us as a sixth year student." He gestured at her, and there was somewhat enthusiastic applause from the students. "If you will . . . ."

He then gestured at the Sorting Hat (and its stool) and Bridget quickly walked over, picked it up, sat on the stool, shoved it on her head, and . . . nothing happened. So . . . was she just supposed to sit there and wait? Had it died? _Could _it die? It was only a hat, after all, sentient or otherwise.

_Of course I can be destroyed, Mistress Griffins, _the Hat interrupted in a deep, calm voice._ Now, for your Sorting. This may be a tad bit more difficult than usual; I've not been in such a complicated mind in quite some time, a bit over 20 years, I believe. It's refreshing to have such a challenge._

Bridget jumped at the sudden voice and almost fell off the stool.

_Now, let's look inside your head, and find where you belong. Hm... brilliant girl, absolutely brilliant, but that's not your focus, is it? Stubborn and resourceful, too, with a moral streak a mile wide. My dear, _the Hat chuckled here, and Bridget continued listening, still slightly shocked that she was actually being Sorted_,_ _your mind works like a Slytherin's, you have a Gryffindor's ideals and temperament, the brilliance and wit of a Ravenclaw, and you're as just as Hufflepuff herself. The Founders themselves would have had difficulty Sorting you. Where would you like to go?_

Bridget didn't respond for a few moments, taking in what the Hat had said. "Um, what?"

_Where would you like to go, Mistress Griffins? I do not believe it is a difficult question._

"Why are you asking me? Isn't that _**your**_ job?"

The Hat sighed and she could almost hear it roll its (imaginary) eyes, _It is much more complicated to Sort older students, because their minds are less black and white than that of an 11 year-old. At this point your choice House has as much influence as your strengths, weaknesses, beliefs, or even your heritage. Normally I wouldn't have to ask, but you haven't hoped for or against a particular one._

Bridget rolled her eyes, lazy Hat. Well, _she_ was too lazy for Hufflepuff, and all the politics and ambition in Slytherin reminded her too much of home. Ravenclaw wouldn't be terrible, but her penchant for finding trouble, her dislike of schoolwork she didn't find interesting, and her disorganized forgetfulness would probably not be very welcome there. Gryffindors weren't afraid of risks, and Hermione herself was proof that they weren't stupid. Harry and Ginny were in Gryffindor, too, and they were the only people (besides Remus, also a Gryffindor) she felt completely comfortable with. Besides, red was her favorite color.

"Um, right, Gryffindor. I think. Yeah."

_Precisely what I was thinking. You have much potential, Mistress Griffins, potential that I've not seen in many years. It's not often a student has the option of choosing her House. Remember, the Houses were created to find the best learning environment for each student. It was never meant to separate them. Unity and harmony with all is the best situation. You are proof enough. But, as it __**is **__my job, and we're in agreement, it shall be… _"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

Gryffindor. She was a Gryffindor. She was sitting in the Great Hall, eating cake at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by other Gryffindors. Oh, God. She was a _Gryffindor. _Well, she had _chosen_ to be a Gryffindor. She really could've been anywhere, and the Hat had said she had potential.

Bridget dropped her fork on her now empty plate, feeling a little ill, as she remembered what it had said. Potential? She didn't want potential. That's all she had ever heard her entire life. She had always had so much _"potential."_ She was, quite honestly, tired of all this potential, and the inevitable let down she eventually gave everyone. It _hurt_ to disappoint people, and that's what always seemed to happen.

What was that stupid Hat thinking? She didn't have potential, of course not. She _couldn't_ have potential, at least the type of potential the Hat was talking about. It was just— just too much. She just wanted to be normal, to fit in, to blend into the crowd. Bridget realized belatedly that this wasn't probable. She had never been able to do so— always finding herself thrust into the spotlight by something or someone— and it certainly wasn't going to happen now that one of her closest friends was Harry Potter, and she was at least friendly with Draco (although that was questionable now that she was in Gryffin—).

"_What?"_

Bridget focused once again on Harry and the world around her (she really had to pay more attention) and noticed that he was staring at Uncle Albus with a sort of disbelieving shock, as were the majority of the other students. She had the feeling that while she had been thinking (a dangerous activity for anyone, most of all her) she had missed something important, and, apparently, most of her uncle's start-of-term speech. Brilliant. At least she was probably going to remember the whole dang thing by the next morning. She could almost recite the first three books verbatim.

"This is due to an event," he was saying, "that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will enjoy it immensely." Bridget glanced at Ginny, who was giving her an equally curious look. Was this what Xavier had been talking about? "I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

BANG! The doors flew open as a particularly loud crash of thunder rang out around them, and a strange looking man entered. He was limping (from the differing footsteps, she guessed he had a wooden leg or something), and he had long, grey hair that hung around his face. He pushed the hair back suddenly and she caught a glimpse of a bright, almost neon blue eye spinning around in its socket, and a face so scarred she was surprised it could be recognized as human. Bridget sighed: this was great, even _more _interruptions. Was she _never _going to find out what was going on?

The man strode up the middle aisle, and reached Uncle Albus, who smiled at him, and, after a few words, shook his hand. As the stranger limped to the only empty seat Uncle Albus turned back to the students. "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" he asked the silent school cheerfully. "Professor Moody."

There was no applause for the man, other than that provided by Uncle Albus and a large man Bridget thought must be Rubeus Hagrid. Their clapping soon died out, though, probably due to the awkwardness. Luckily, this didn't seem to bother Professor Moody very much.

"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron. "_Mad-Eye Moody? _The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," Ron replied, fascinated by the new professor.

"What happened to him?" whispered Hermione. "What happened to his _face?"_

"Dunno."

"Does it matter?" Bridget muttered after Ron spoke. "As long as he knows what he's teaching, right?"

Uncle Albus cleared his throat and all the muttering and whispering in the room stopped.

"As I was saying, we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

There was utter silence in the room until Fred Weasley yelled, "You're _JOKING!"_

Almost everyone in the Hall laughed, the tension caused by Moody's arrival disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. Bridget, however, couldn't manage more than a small smile. She was beginning to feel a little sick again.

"I am _not _joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though, now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar…"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, although there was an amused look on her face (even if she wasn't smiling). Bridget sighed; if she _was _related to the Headmaster (a distinct possibility), she could see _exactly_ where she got her tendency to be easily distracted from. She got it from the greatest wizard of their time.

"Er—but maybe this is not the time… no… where was I?" Yup, definitely. "Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves_._ So I hope those who _do_ know will forgive me for giving a short explanation and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities—until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

"_Death toll?"_ whispered Hermione, sounding absolutely mortified. Everyone ignored her.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament, none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation, and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will put himself or herself in mortal danger.

"However, I greatly regret that I must announce that Beauxbatons Academy will be unable to participate this year, as certain restrictions have caused them to pull out at the last moment. Luckily I was able to convince the American school, Queen Ka'iulani Academy, to join us. Both the Academy and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide…"

Bridget tuned out the Headmaster, knowing full well that she'd probably remember his entire speech the next morning. An American school was coming? Not only that but it was one that seemed to be named after a Hawaiian monarch, a monarch that, as far as she knew, had only been a princess and died when she was in her early twenties. If that was true than who the heck was _Queen_ Ka'iulani_?_

* * *

"Hermione, what do you know about Hawaiian history?" Bridget asked, as she got ready for bed that evening.

"I read a book on it once, after Flitwick explained the importance of the Hawaiian language to our spells. Why?"

"As far as I know, _Princess _Ka'iulani was the named heir to the Hawaiian throne, but Queen Liliuokalani was overthrown by a group of American businessmen. She traveled to America to try to get assistance to regain control, but died at the age of twenty-three. Am I missing something?"

"Oh, right, I keep forgetting you're new to this," the girl said as she sat down on Ginny's bed. "Her appeal was accepted by the Magical President of the United States. He officially declined recognition of that government, and she regained control of the _magical_ portion of her country with his help. However, neither could convince the Muggle President that the overthrow was wrong. It was the first complete separation of the magical and Muggle governments in Hawaii. Magical Hawaii didn't lose its independence until 1940. Oh, yes, and she had attended Hogwarts."

The door swung open and Ginny walked into their room. Bridget would be bunking with her instead of the sixth year girls because, well, she wasn't taking the same classes as those girls, she was the same age as Ginny, and Ginny was the only Gryffindor girl in the fifth year. It worked out for everyone.

"Dude?"

"Do you think that's what Xavier was talking about?" she asked, not noticing that Hermione was in the room.

"When did you see Xavier?" Hermione inquired briskly before Bridget could answer.

"On the train," she answered, "after we had left. He'd missed the train at the Platform, and he wanted to tell me something."

"The train? _After_ it started moving?" asked Hermione, frowning.

Bridget gave her a strange look. "Yeah."

"But, you can't Apparate or Disapparate onto the Hogwarts Express," replied Hermione. "It's warded against it, just like the school. There was an incident in the first war, and Dumbledore changed the train's wards to prevent another attack."

"Well, maybe he had enough time to get on the train, but not enough to find and talk to me," Bridget said firmly.

"I'm not sure… he was hiding something from us that night we met him, and he reminds me of someone," Hermione responded, her voice taking on a musing quality to it.

"I trust Xavier," she said coldly. "He's saved my life. He's one of my closest, most protective friends."

"Oh, I didn't mean— I mean," Hermione stammered as she turned pink. "Never mind."

"Hermione, I'll say this once: Xavier is one of my best friends. I trust him with my life. He's _never_ willingly let me down before, and I don't think he'll do so any time in the near future."

* * *

**Author's Note: **There it is. My, um, seventh chapter. Yup. I can't really think of anything to say, except my next chapter should be up sooner. Hopefully. Let's see… Bridget's finally been Sorted, and, nothing else really happens in the chapter except for Xavier accusations. Oh, yes, the information about _Princess_ Ka'iulani and Queen Liliuokalani Bridget told is based on true events, but I made up the bit about her later years (obviously). Please, _please_ review, I only got one for the last chapter and that makes me sad. –sniff—

Thanks to **LegacyOfThePheonix, **and **Prongsgrl** (love the name) for the reviews, **White Alchemist Taya, voided, Prongsgrl, 30keeper30, **and **Shib Shib **for the Story Alert adds. I really am sorry about the late posting, I can promise that the next chapter will be up by Monday, actually, to make up for it. I don't have class or a lot of homework all weekend and it's already done.

_**Next chapter: **__It's the first day of school at Hogwarts. Bridget gets her schedule, meets Neville Longbottom, almost burns down a room, and learns Draco's feelings about her Sorting.__** Due by 10/8/07.**_

**Posted: **10/05/07

**Last Edited: **6/6/08


	9. Fine Line

_**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Harry Potter or anything related to him. I do own Bridget Griffins and anything else you don't recognize (from the books and/or movies). Recognizable plot comes from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, _Chapter 13: "Mad-Eye Moody"

_**Author's Notes: **_This is the final re-done chapter, the next one shall be brand new and all will rejoice.

—crickets chirping— Or not. Anyways, this chapter has the least changed out of all of the previous ones, but it still might be a good idea to read it over, because I can't really remember what I changed.

* * *

Chapter Eight: Fine Line

"_The kind of intelligence a genius has is a different sort of intelligence. The thinking of a genius does not proceed logically. It leaps with great ellipses. It pulls knowledge from God knows where."_

–_Dorothy Thompson_

Harry's head was spinning and he felt like some sort of burrowing creature had taken residence in his stomach. His head gave another sharp jolt of pain and he stumbled, leaving heavily on the wall next to him.

"Harry, are you alright?"

He opened his mouth to ask if it bloody _looked _like he was alright, but found that it didn't seem to want to work for him. Harry heard Ron groan next to him.

"Bloody hell, we forgot about Bridget!"

Crap.

Ron pulled him off the wall and started to lead him away. The pounding in Harry's head began to fade.

"C'mon, mate, let's get you back to the Tower," Ron continued cheerfully. "Your girl must be really nervous if you can't even go down the corridor."

* * *

"Oh, God, Ginny, I don't want to do this," Bridget said anxiously as she packed her bookbag for the day. "I hate being the new girl. Everyone wants to know everything about you because you're all new and interesting and I have to _meet _people." She groaned and let her head fall into her hands.

"You say 'meet people' like it's a bad thing, Jet," Ginny replied. "I love meeting new people."

Bridget gave Ginny a brief, but rather frightening glare. "Then you can meet them _for_ me."

"I already know most of them," she replied in a voice that sounded, in Bridget's opinion, much too chipper. The girl grabbed Bridget's wrist and pulled her reluctant friend out of the room and down the stairs. "You'll be perfectly fine; people love you. Now, let's get you to the Great Hall for breakfast."

"But, I don't _want—"_ Bridget stopped at the bottom of the girls' staircase as a sudden feeling of warm relief washed over her.

The comforting sense of security seemed to have been because of the familiar head of terminally messy black hair that she had just gotten sight of, and it seemed to have, instead of calming down the butterflies in her stomach, taught them how to do cartwheels while humming the Macarena. Harry turned around, and his green eyes met hers. The moment was over.

"Morning Jet, Ginny," he said with a sheepish look. Bridget gave him a weak smile, now she was nervous and _confused. _Wonderful.

"What're you doing here, Harry?" Ginny asked. "Where're Ron and Hermione?"

"I told them to go ahead while I waited for you and Bridget. I couldn't—" he cut himself off, floundering for a bit. "I didn't want Bridget to get lost; it's her first day, after all."

Ginny gave him a strange look while Bridget tried not to look too queasy. "She spent two weeks here with you and I've been here for five years. I think that between the two of us we could've gotten to the Great Hall in one piece."

"Err… right."

Bridget cleared her throat, her eyes darting around nervously as she shifted from one foot to the other. "Can we just go? I don't know where I'm supposed to be first period. I don't like not knowing. Not knowing makes me uncomfortable."

Harry pulled out a piece of parchment. "McGonagall asked me to give this to you. You're supposed to be with Lupin, but he's with Dumbledore, so you're just going to come with me to Herbology."

* * *

Remus had just raised his arm to knock on the door when a voice said, "Come in, Remus."

He walked in and sat on the red armchair in front of the Headmaster's desk. "I told him," he said clearly. "He has the right to know, the rest of us do."

Dumbledore nodded with a small, knowing smile. "I thought you would."

Remus looked up sharply. He had spent the past week either feeling righteous satisfaction or a form of guilt he had come to associate with misdeeds involving his friends. He hadn't felt like this since—since shortly after Harry's first birthday.

"You were right in thinking that he should know, but I felt it would be better taken if he were told by a friend rather than a meddling old man.

"Still, I shall have to owl him about remembering that the past is in the past. We cannot, we must not try to change anything, especially regarding those we care for; something could go wrong, and fates might be changed."

* * *

"I just don't see how learning about _plants_ will change the fate of the world," Ron grumbled as the four Gryffindors walked across the grounds to greenhouse three.

"Didn't you do your _Herbologists who Changed the World _essay, Ronald?" Hermione asked shrewdly as Ron's ears began to turn red.

Bridget suppressed a grin and, feeling a bit of mercy for the boy, asked, "Who'd you write about, Hermione?" She then tuned the other girl out as she named people Bridget had never heard of.

Bridget let her gaze wander over to Harry, who seemed to be deep in thought. She glanced at Hermione (she had reached maximum bookworm mode) before slowing down until she was level with Harry. "Something wrong?" she asked in a whisper.

He shook his head. "No. I'm just wondering if Sirius got my letter." Harry gave her a worried look. "You don't think something happened to Hedwig?"

"Using my awesomely awesome future remembering/feeling type skills, I can confidently say that no, nothing happened to your owl." Bridget grinned happily at Harry and he smiled back.

"Are you even listening, Bridget?" Hermione asked suddenly, her eyes narrowed in anger.

"Of course I am, Hermione," Bridget said as she gave Hermione a wide smile.

"Then what did I just say?"

"I dunno, something about some dude who did something with some plant. You know I'm horrible with names, 'Mione."

"_Bridget!"_

* * *

Neville hadn't blushed so much since, well, since he had bumped into that fourth year Hufflepuff girl that morning. "Mr. Longbottom," Professor Sprout was saying proudly to the pretty girl in front of him, "is my best student. I haven't had one with such aptitude in, oh, 20 years or so. You listen to what he says, Miss Griffins, and you'll be a fine Herbologist."

"Yes, ma'am," the girl said with a bright smile.

"I'll leave you to it, Mr. Longbottom, Miss Griffins." And the woman walked away, leaving them alone in greenhouse one.

"I'm at your disposal, um," she paused, looking a little confused, "Mr. Longbottom."

"It's Neville," he said. He was starting to feel a little uncomfortable with this whole situation. He just hoped Harry wasn't the jealous type.

"Alright then, Neville," Bridget smiled brightly at him, "you're the star student and I'm the poor sap (no pun intended) who doesn't know a thing about plants other than they're mostly green. Teach me."

Neville wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, but he remembered what Sprout had done on their first day. He carefully pulled out his Herbology kit and unwrapped it almost reverently; Gran had said if he lost this one she wouldn't purchase another one until next year. "Now this is—" he began.

"Erm… perhaps I should clarify," Bridget interrupted with a sheepish smile. "I know what all those are," she paused with a frown and pointed out his watering can, "except that one. I don't know what that is."

Neville didn't want to make a bad impression, so he tried not to look at her like she was insane (which she very well might be). "That's a watering can."

"Oh, right, I knew that. Anyways, I know most of the _very_ basics and I read the first half of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi."_

He decided to completely forgo what had happened the first two classes he had had and skip to the third one, which consisted mostly of identifying basic plants. "Okay then, we'll start here. Do you know what this is?"

Bridget stared at the plant, her lips forming a small, thoughtful frown and her brow furrowing slightly. She suddenly smiled. "I've got it! It's a plant." Neville stared at her uncertainly. Perhaps she _was_ mad. "I'm just joking, well, I suppose I'm not completely joking; it is a plant. Anyways, that's a daisy. You do realize even most Muggles know what that is, right?"

They spent the remainder of the period identifying the various plants and, if you didn't count the rather pathetic incident with the Devil's Snare (she had muttered the most interesting rhyme after that, he should ask her about it later), no injuries.

"What's your next class?" Neville asked as they cleaned up.

"Unless my tutor's outside, whatever Harry has."

"We have Care of Magical Creatures together; I can show you how to get there," he offered.

"Alright then."

"Bridget?" a familiar voice called as they stepped outside. A young man rushed over, looking somewhat harassed. "I'm sorry I was late today, I had to speak with Professor Dumbledore." The man caught sight of Neville and blinked. "Oh, hello, Neville."

Neville didn't recognize him, but this wasn't an unusual occurrence so he wasn't worried. He did hope the man didn't expect Neville to remember him, though. Bridget, however, seemed to notice his slightly confused look and introduced the guy.

"Neville, this is my tutor, Remus Lupin," she said. "And I think you remember Neville, Remus."

Neville stared at his former professor. The man looked younger than he had before and much healthier, and, well, happy. He looked happy.

"Professor Lupin?" he sputtered before he could stop himself.

"Um, yes," Professor Lupin gave Bridget a stern, but amused look, "we weren't supposed to really tell anyone, but I assume we can trust you?"

Abruptly Neville realized why it wouldn't be smart for Professor Lupin to announce his return to Hogwarts. Even if he wasn't teaching the general population, most of the students' parents wouldn't be happy with a werewolf in the school. Neville, however, remembered what his old Defense professor had done for him the previous year. He stuck out his hand.

"It's good to have you back, Professor," he said in what he hoped was a casual way.

Lupin gave him a slightly surprised, but pleased look as Neville shook his hand without flinching. "They've always said Gryffindors were brave and bold to the point of stupidity," he said, "not many people would agree with you if they knew the nature of my condition."

Neville didn't know if this was meant to be a compliment or an insult, but he was glad he seemed more like a true Gryffindor rather than 'that nervous Gryffindor bloke who should've been in Hufflepuff.'

Bridget leaned over to Neville and stage-whispered, "Remus was a Gryffindor."

Professor Lupin rolled his eyes as if he had endured her behavior many times. "C'mon Biddy." He smiled at Neville, who continued to stand there like an idiot. "It was nice seeing you again, Neville, and, please, call me Remus. I'm not your professor anymore."

"Can you tell Harry that Remus met me?" Bridget asked as she walked away with his former professor. Neville nodded vacantly and she waved cheerfully. "I'll see you at lunch."

Neville Longbottom walked to his next class with the most unusual sensation. He had the strangest feeling that he had just made friends with Harry Potter's girlfriend. He _really_ hoped Harry wasn't the jealous type.

* * *

Five minutes after lunch in the Great Hall had begun, Bridget and Remus sat down at the Gryffindor table, next to Harry and across from Ron and Hermione. Bridget briefly looked around for Neville and frowned when she realized he wasn't at the table.

She turned to join in on whatever conversation the others were having. It took her fifteen seconds to register that there _wasn_'_t _any conversation occurring (most of which was spent getting food), and another ten to figure out what Hermione was doing.

This realization, however, didn't stop her from asking, "What in heaven's name are you doing, Hermione?"

The girl ignored her, seemingly concentrated on eating as much food as possible in the shortest amount of time possible. Ron, on the other hand, had a theory. "Me and Harry think this is a new elf-rights thing."

Bridget groaned. "Not another one, and it's 'Harry and I,' not 'me and Harry.'"

"What about you and Harry?"

"She was correcting you, Ron," Harry said from her left.

"No," Hermione said defensively once she swallowed her food, once again attracting everyone's attention. "I just want to…" her eyes widened. She had caught sight of Remus, who was talking with Ginny, "… go to the library," she finished weakly. The others (sadly including Bridget) turned to see what she was staring at and joined in.

After five seconds of silent staring Bridget came to her senses and realized what was wrong. "Oh! Guys, this is my tutor, Remus." Remus finally turned toward them and gave them a smile.

"I thought you said—" Ron began.

"Professor?" interrupted Hermione.

Remus glanced around nervously. "Please, it's just Remus now; I'm no longer your professor."

"Oh, right," Bridget muttered to herself. "You guys haven't seen the new and—" she frowned thoughtfully, "well, not exactly improved, although you do look much healthier, Rem, and, while technically, I suppose even though it's rather new, it's also a reversal, isn't it?" She shook her head to stop her train of thought. "Nevermind, it's not important. Anyways, this is Remus John Lupin of about—what is it?—22, 23 years of age."

"Yes, it's physically around there."

* * *

"Aack! Fire!" Bridget pointed her wand at the flames and doused them—and Remus. She winced. "Sorry, Rem."

He sighed and, with an almost imperceptible flick of his wand, was dry again. "I think that's enough for today. Dinner's to begin shortly, anyways." He began to clean up the room and Bridget attempted to help. "You've done very well today."

She gave him a questioning look as she swung her backpack over her shoulder. "Remus, I set a chair on fire. On _fire._ Fire, as in 'burn, baby, burn' fire."

He led her out of the classroom and locked the door behind them (merely a formality, they both knew even ickle firsties could _alohamora _their way in). "I knew you would have an easier time with the elements because it's a form of natural magic. I should have warned you."

She ignored his unnecessary apology (having learned early on that explaining that he really didn't need to apologize for anything didn't work) and decided to pursue another line of inquiry. "Remus, I have a question."

"Go ahead." He pulled her by her backpack from the hall she had turned into and pushed her in the opposite direction. "Just not that way."

Bridget decided that it might be smarter (and safer) if she just followed him. "Oh, right, I knew that. Anyways, how is it that I can just point my magic stick thingy at something and really want for something to happen and it does? Happen, that is, what I want to happen happens."

"It's magic."

She glanced at Remus, who was grinning at her, and gave him a tired look. "You know what I mean."

"Simply put, you seem to instinctually understand what most wizards never do. Magic is all about desire and limits. Whatever you want to happen can happen, as long as it's within the limits of Magic itself and your own magical potential. Most people need focus points like incantations, wand movements, and wands themselves. By the end of eighth year, the average Hogwarts student should be able to do magic silently and some learn to do so without wand movement, but only a few wizards can ever manage controlled wandless magic."

"Mr. Lupin?" a stern voice called from behind them. It was Professor McGonagall. "May I see you for a moment?"

Remus nodded before turning back to Bridget. "Just go down the stairs and the Great Hall is right at the bottom, through the large doors."

"I know where I'm going when I'm paying attention," she replied with an irritated look. "I'm just not paying attention most of the time."

Bridget spun around and strode off towards the stairs. When she was halfway down them she noticed the crowd that was gathered at the bottom. She slowed down slightly, looking around curiously, and asked no one in particular, "What's going on?" It _was _a high school, someone would answer.

And answer they did. A tall Ravenclaw turned, eagerly responding, "It's Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. They're going to start dueling soon enough."

"Oh crud." Bridget sighed to herself before pushing her way through the crowd.

By the time she reached the front of the crowd Hermione was attempting to push Ron into the Great Hall and Harry and Draco were glaring at each other, obviously exchanging heated words.

"Don't you _dare_ insult my mother, Potter," Draco ground out, his face slightly pink.

"Keep your fat mouth shut, then" Harry turned away and Draco pulled out his wand.

"HARRY!" Bridget shouted in warning. She unconsciously took a step forward, out of the crowd.

BANG!

Harry had just gotten his wand out, but before he could retaliate to whatever Draco had done, there was another loud BANG, and a low roar reverberated through the corridor.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!" a rough voice shouted.

Bridget gaped, frozen at the sight: Draco Malfoy (who had previously been a human boy) had been turned into a mongoose-type creature, a ferret, in fact, a small, white ferret. This was, um, interesting.

Mad-Eye Moody limped past her and looked at Harry. "Did he get you?" he asked him.

"Just a bit," Harry muttered, wiping some blood off his cheek. He seemed as shocked as everyone else. Moody abruptly turned to Bridget. She stared at him. "You, girl, what's your name?"

"Jet Griffins."

He gave her an appraising look (with the one, normal eye; the other one was looking out the back of his head). "LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted suddenly.

Bridget blinked and spoke before she could stop herself, "I don't _have_ anything."

"Not you," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, where Bridget could just see one of Draco's goons (she had yet to be introduced to them separately so they were just 'Crabbe and Goyle' in her mind). He was frozen in place, just about to pick up the ferr—Draco.

As soon as Moody turned and began to make his way to the trio, Draco squeaked and started to scurry in the direction of the dungeons. Moody, however, had other plans for the Slytherin, and pointed his wand at Draco. "I don't think so!" Bridget inhaled sharply as Draco flew into the air at least ten, eleven feet. The ferret smacked back into the ground, and then flew back up.

"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned." Well, neither did Bridget, but she thought that this was going a bit farther than necessary. Draco flew higher with each bounce. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…" Bridget briefly considered doing something, but she didn't want to somehow hurt Draco (he was at least twenty feet up now). "Never—do—that—again—"

"Professor Moody!"

Professor McGonagall was suddenly standing next to Bridget, and Remus was right behind her, his arms full of books.

"Hello Professor McGonagall, Lupin," the Ferret-Torturer said all too calmly.

"What—what are you doing?" she asked weakly. Remus gave Bridget a questioning look, but she couldn't bring herself to answer.

"Teaching."

"Teach—Moody, _is that a student?"_

"Yep."

"No." She pulled out her wand and, with a loud snap, the human Draco Malfoy was on the floor, his hair beyond messy and his face colored a brilliant pink. He stood up on shaky legs, looking rather pained.

McGonagall pointed her wand at Moody's chest threateningly. "Moody, we _never_ use Transfiguration as a punishment! Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah, but I thought a good sharp shock—"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that then," Moody said as he gave Draco a disgusted look.

"Later," McGonagall continued severely. "Mr. Malfoy may go to the Great Hall if he wishes; _we_ must speak with Professor Dumbledore." She gave Draco a stern look and he turned and stalked off quickly. McGonagall turned to Remus. "Thank you, Mr. Lupin, I shall take those now." She took the books out of Remus' arms and shoved them into Moody's. As she turned, McGonagall noticed Bridget and she nodded politely at her. "I trust your studies went well, Miss Griffins."

Bridget nodded her assent and glanced at Remus and the hall Draco had left through. He nodded. She muttered a good-bye to the professors and took off at a run.

"So, Griffins is one of yours, then, McGonagall?"

"Draco?" Bridget said tentatively. She walked towards his seat in the Slytherin Quidditch stands.

"What do you want, Griffins?" he asked coldly, his entire posture stiffening. "Come to gloat?"

She paused momentarily, wondering if this was the best idea in the world, but then stepped forward and sat down next to him. "No," Bridget said off-handedly. She continued speaking in a conspiratorial tone, "I'm not very good at gloating, you know, it makes me uncomfortable." She straightened and ignored his glare. "Besides, I thought that was a rather ghastly thing for Moody to do. No matter how cowardly attacking someone who's not facing you is, I didn't see any actions that warranted being turned into a small furry thing."

"Potter deserved it," Draco growled.

Bridget looked confused. "Draco, dear, I believe you were the one trans—oh, right. Well, what did Harry do, exactly?"

"He insulted my mother."

She frowned. Of course she had heard (and, she supposed, read) enough to know that this was completely true, but there was still something a bit off. "That's rather out of character for Harry; he's not one to insult anyone's parents. Had you done anything else?"

He tried to look insulted. "Would I—?"

"Yes," Bridget said firmly, "you would. Now, what did you say?"

"I knew this would happen."

"Hmm… those aren't really fight—oh, I really have to get quicker with these things. Anyways, you knew what would happen? Unfortunately, I cannot yet read minds."

"You're already acting like a Gryffindor." If Bridget hadn't known better she would've said he was pouting.

"'Acting like a Gryffindor'?" she repeated, confused. "How does one 'act like a Gryffindor' exactly?" He didn't respond and Bridget frowned at him. Her voice took on a defensive tone. "I'll have you know I was always like this and, whether _you_ like it or not, we will be friends."

"Gryffindors and Slytherins cannot be friends," he replied sounding every bit like a spoiled child. Luckily a couple of summers working with young children had lent her experience in dealing with similar attitudes.

"Pish, posh," she dismissed easily. "This whole House hatred thing is beyond ridiculous. For the love of God, we're all still children, while rivalry isn't horrible, hating someone merely because they have a different dominant trait than you do is silly, if not downright counter-productive. In fact, I can personally see quite a few similarities between Slytherins and Gryffindors, perhaps that's why we're so competitive."

"You're completely mad," Draco deadpanned, looking both awed and appalled. Bridget, however, was too annoyed to be amused by his face. She stood up angrily.

"I'm a Gryffindor and I've decided to be your, a Slytherin's, friend. And you'd better get _damned _used to it, too, because I am one of the most stubborn people you will _ever _meet. There's a fine line between insanity and," she frowned, "well, something; I'll remember later." She took a deep breath and continued in a forcibly calmer voice. "Now, I better get to dinner before Harry thinks you've done something to me. I shall see you later."

* * *

"Harry!" Harry turned at the sound of his name, hoping that it wasn't yet another 'concerned _friend.' _It wasn't. In fact, it was Bridget.

She flung her arms around his neck briefly before pulling back and examining the scratch on his face. "Are you okay? Should you go to the Hospital Wing? You're not badly hurt, are you?"

He stared at her concerned face, wondering why he felt so comfortable with her hand on his cheek and her arm around his neck. She was practically on top of him, and, well, he rather liked it. Boy-Who-Lived or not, he was still a teenager with hormones. "No, not really."

She smiled brightly. "Good."

"What kept you?" Ginny asked. "Weren't you there when it happened?"

Bridget sat down next to Harry, and he felt oddly disappointed at the loss of contact.

"I went to yell at Draco for attacking Harry, but I couldn't bring myself to do it properly; he was too pitiful." Harry frowned, it was much too dangerous for her to wander off with Malfoy, and he didn't really like her thinking of Malfoy as "pitiful."

Ron looked at her hopefully, "Really?"

Bridget gave him a level look. "Well, he _had_ just been turned into a rodent. Wouldn't you feel a bit… off?"

"That was _brilliant_," Ron said with a dreamy look on his face.

"I missed it," a glum voice said from across from Ginny. Neville picked despondently at his food.

"You didn't miss much," Bridget replied dismissively before anyone else could say anything. "Where were you at lunch? I must've missed you."

Neville began to turn red as Harry looked between him and Bridget. What had happened in that greenhouse? "I was working on a project for Herbology," he muttered.

"Oh," Bridget responded. "I had been looking forward to talking with you." She shrugged. "Oh, well. So, what were you working on?"

"It's nothing."

"No, it isn't, Neville," Ginny added in a matter-of-fact voice. "Professor Sprout told our class that it was pure genius."

"There's a fine line between genius and insanity," Bridget said suddenly. They all stared at her and she began to blush. "Sorry, random thought, I didn't mean Neville's insane."

* * *

_**Author's End Notes: **__There it is, finally. Umm… I don't really have anything else to say, just please, please review. I noticed that my review/chapter ratio has been going downwards for a while, and I'd appreciate it if someone would tell me why, or just review, either one's fine. I'll give you imaginary cookies!_

Thanks to _**kitza**_for reviewing.

_**Next chapter: **__Bridget has one of her little, oh-crud-I-don't-feel-so-well episodes, and has to have her lessons in the Hospital Wing. We learn about the Unforgivable Curses, and Padfoot writes back._

**Posted: **10/05/07

**Last Edited: **6/6/08


	10. Unforgivable

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the rights to Harry Potter or anything related to the franchise. I do own all original characters and plot. References for this chapter comes from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire _by J.K. Rowling, Chapter Fourteen: "The Unforgivable Curses," pages 220 to 228.

**Author's Note: **So… I'm late… again. –sheepish grin— Oops. At least it isn't as bad as the update before last. This is the first new chapter since I re-did the whole story (not so much re-did, as filled in the plot holes a bit). I will reassure everyone that, other than the odd grammatical or spelling correction, I won't be re-editing this story again until it's finished. Um… enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Nine: The Unforgivable

"_We cannot afford to forget any experience, not even the most painful." –Dag Hammarskjöld, __Markings_

"C'mon, Jet," an all too cherry voice said as its owner pushed aside the bed curtains. "Breakfast starts in five minutes."

Bridget groaned and burrowed underneath her pillow. "No one goes to breakfast when it first starts. Besides, I don't feel good; leave me alone."

Ginny continued as if she hadn't heard the other girl, "The sun is out, the birds are—what?"

Jet removed the pillow from her face, wincing at the bright light. "I've had a headache since about four. Will you let me sleep now?"

There was a moment of silence and Bridget took the time to put the pillow back in it's previous position. She sighed, at least the sharp pains behind her eyes had dulled to a mere throbbing. This new found comfort didn't last very long, as Ginny had decided to pull off the covers.

"Up! Get up! We're taking you to the Hospital Wing."

"It's not that bad, Gin. I'll live."

The pillow was torn from her hands and Bridget's groggy consciousness was graced with the sight of a stern red-head. "Get. Up."

She sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes with both hands. "Fine, I'll go see that crazy nurse if it'll make you happy."

"It'll make me very happy. Now, get dressed and we'll leave."

Bridget swung her legs over the side of her bed and began to stand up. "Alright, alright, I'm getting ther—" As soon as she had stood up her legs gave out and the sharp pain she had woken up to returned twice as bad as it had been before. She was not having a good morning.

Ginny dragged her up, and, ignoring Bridget's mumbled, semi-coherent protests, forced the girl to lean on her. Luckily, they were about the same size. "See," she scolded as they made their way down to the apparently empty Common Room, "you _are _feeling sick. Forget changing, we need to get you to Pomfrey now. You should've gone when you first woke up with that headache."

* * *

Neville had lost Trevor. Again. Normally, the toad hopped on Neville's face at exactly 4:45 a.m. , begging to be fed (not that toads can really beg). Neville would then get up, feed the toad, and go back to bed for another few hours of sleep. Today, however, he hadn't woken up to his pet's croaks, but, rather, the lack of them.

He had still been searching the Common Room for the missing amphibian when he saw Ginny Weasley come down the stairs supporting Bridget Griffins, who seemed to be injured or something. She must've really needed Madam Pomfrey, too, because she was only wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts, rather short shorts at that (girls actually _wear _that?).

"Neville, will you stop staring at Jet's legs and help me?" Ginny asked, giving him an amused look. Neville began to turn pink; he hadn't realized he had been staring. Bridget suddenly slumped over unconscious, and Ginny stumbled under the sudden weight.

Neville rushed forward (quite thankful there hadn't been anything but empty floor between him and the girls, otherwise all three of them would've ended up sprawled on the floor), and caught her. He straightened up, adjusting his hold on Bridget and noticed that Ginny was giving him an appraising look.

"The benefits of Herbology," she muttered. "All those plants have done you some good, Mr. Longbottom."

Other than turning a light shade of pink, Neville didn't seem to take notice of the compliment. "If you want to get Harry, I can bring her to the Hospital Wing," he offered.

"I'm not leaving her!" She gave him a stern look. "We can get Harry and Remus afterwards; they'd kill me if I didn't make sure she was alright first."

They were about three-fourths to the Infirmary (Bridget was starting to get a little heavy at this point), when Ginny asked, "Why'd you think I'd want to get Harry right away?"

Neville gave her a confused look, "Well, they're dating, aren't they?"

She grinned, her eyes taking on a glint that Neville recognized from her twin brothers (it usually meant that they were planning something and you should run—fast). "That's what everyone says."

Neville, once again, felt like he was missing something.

* * *

Bridget blinked groggily as they blurry room gradually came into focus. Her brain felt hazy. That must be why the room seemed all too white and still had that strange smell of antiseptic that pervaded all hospitals, even, it seemed, ones that didn't use antiseptic.

"There we go, Miss Griffins, awake at last," an unfortunately familiar voice said. "Sit up and drink this."

Someone gently helped her into an upright position and a goblet was pushed into her hands. She downed the potion, and, soon after, the world faded back into focus. Her stomach dropped. "Oh, crud."

"That's quite right, Miss Griffins," Madam Pomfrey continued briskly. "If it hadn't been for Miss Weasley and Mr. Longbottom's quick actions, this would have been much more serious. As it was, I just had to summon Professor Snape to administer a stronger dose." She gave Bridget a stern look before bustling out of the room.

Bridget chanced a look at the others in the Hospital Wing and gulped. This was not going to be pleasant.

"I do not wish to be called for an incident like this again," Snape drawled. "Gryffindor stubbornness is no excuse for your idiotic actions. I expect better in the future." And, with those parting words of encouragement, he strode out of the sterile Infirmary, his black robes swooshing around him in an almost menacing fashion.

Bridget turned to look at the remaining four people, wondering who would go next. "I shall inform your great-uncle of your condition." So, McGonagall it is. "Madam Pomfrey has told us that you have not been eating enough, therefore I have enlisted Miss Weasley's assistance in making sure that this is not a problem in the future. Now, I must prepare for my lessons. If you wish, you are excused from class, Mr. Potter." The second professor left the room; her robes, however, acted perfectly normal. There was no swooshing involved what-so-ever. Bummers.

There were a few seconds of thick silence. "I told you, you should've gone when you first woke up," Ginny said. She sighed dramatically. "Alas, no one ever listens to me. I'm going to tell Neville that you're okay; he didn't want to stick around after Pomfrey called Snape. Toodles." The girl smiled brightly and waved before leaving Bridget alone with the two people who were most upset with her. She braced herself.

"Are you feeling better?" Harry asked in a quiet, steady voice from next to her. His hand was still on her back. Bridget couldn't bring herself to speak and nodded. "I better get to Transfiguration, then," he continued, standing and picking up his backpack. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Well, I guess I'll see you later."

She looked at the hands fidgeting in her lap and flinched when she heard the heavy door shut. The place where his hand had been was still warm and her eyes were burning; she _hated _disappointing people.

"He was very worried, we both were," Remus said softly, almost as if he were trying to comfort _her._

"Sorry."

"Will you remember to come to the Hospital Wing next time you don't feel well?"

Bridget's head shot up. "How'd you know I forgot? Isn't that a bit weird? I mean, I don't know anyone else who _forgets_ to go to the doctor when they're sick. It's just… it's not normal."

"And when have you been normal?" he replied dryly. She briefly considered throwing her pillow at him, but dismissed that idea after realized that then she wouldn't have a pillow. Remus wasn't stupid enough to re-supply her ammunition stores. "Besides, I once knew a girl very similar to you. Extremely smart, but just as absent-minded."

Normally Bridget would say something along the lines of "Is that a good thing?" but Remus had such a sad smile on his face, she couldn't bring herself to do so. She had a strong urge to find out who this girl was and what had happened to her. Unfortunately, she also had the feeling that she didn't really want to know.

* * *

"Remus, I already _know _all of this," Bridget said as she rubbed her eyes tiredly. She shut the Charms book and tossed it next to her on the bed. "You _have _to have something else to teach me."

"We're revising," he replied as he pointed out yet another spell in the discarded Charms textbook. "Try that one." He leaned back as Bridget glared at him.

"Swish and flick. _Wingardium Leviosa._"

"You've finished first year, and I want to make sure you know it before we move on."

The bed she had been levitating fell to the floor with a loud crash. "_What?" _She held up the bundle of notes she had taken so far. "You're telling me that this is _all _first years do? Why the heck does it take them a whole year? I did it in two weeks!"

"That you did," he replied absently, as if she hadn't just dropped a bed or was sitting there with her mouth hanging open, the notes clutched in one hand. "You finished a week earlier than I expected, too, very good job. Now, do you have any questions for me?"

She let her hand drop to the bed and sighed again. "No, not rea—what's unforgivable?"

Remus' head snapped up and he studied the girl carefully. Bridget looked shocked and more than a little confused, as if she didn't know where in the world the question had come from—and she didn't.

"And I've just had the rather odd urge to shout 'Constant Vigilance!'" She bit her bottom lip and her brow furrowed as she frowned. "Should I be worried?"

"Have you met Professor Moody?"

"The weird dude who turned Draco into a ferret?" Remus nodded and Bridget shook her head. "No, not really. Can you please tell me what's unforgivable? It's kinda bothering me now, _and _it's disturbingly vague."

"There are many things that are considered unforgivable in the Wiz—do you mean the Curses?" he asked, suddenly looking quite focused. "Do you mean the Unforgivable Curses?"

Bridget beamed as the confusion in her eyes transformed to mere curiosity. "Yeah, that's it. What are they?"

"What made you think of that?"

She frowned now, knowing that she was missing some important information. Remus didn't often answer legitimate questions with questions, he thought it was rude, and there was a sharpness in his tone and eyes that she hadn't often seen before, if ever. "I dunno. Why? What's wrong?"

"The Unforgivable Curses are a group of three curses that are considered, well, unforgivable." She gave him a slightly amused look.

"Interestingly enough, I got that part."

He shot her a look, clearly telling her to be quiet; he wasn't done yet. "The first is the Imperious Curse. It allows the caster to control the person the curse was casted on and can only be thrown off by sheer force of will. Many people claimed to be under the Imperious Curse at the end of the war. The second is the Cruciatus Curse. It causes the subject unbearable pain and can drive people to insanity or kill them. The last curse is the Killing Curse. It—"

"Avada Kedavra. Bright green light. Hate." There was a short pause. "And love."

Bridget looked back up, frowning. Remus had gone pale.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Those books, they're from Harry's point of view, right?"

Bridget nodded. "Mostly. From what I can remember, there's the first chapter in the first and fourth books that are different."

"And that's as far as we've gone?"

"Yeah. About a fourth way through the fourth, I think, although it's been a _bit_ different." Her eyes widened and she gave him a frightened look. "But none of that was in those chapters. I mean, there's the green light from Harry's—Harry's memory, but that's it. He—he's seen it, he knows about it. Oh, Remus, there are only six books with one left, at most he was 20 when he saw that, but I—I think he was younger than that."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive."

* * *

"_Yes,_ Remus, I'm positive, now get out of here. I'll be perfectly alright. Besides, dinner has barely begun, no one's even going to be in there."

And, with that, Bridget turned, told the Fat Lady the password and climbed through the Portrait Hole. She turned and gave her tutor a firm look. "Good-bye, Remus." The door shut with a sharp snap.

Bridget leaned against the closed door and sighed. For the love of all things Harry, that man fussed worse than Mrs. Weasley. She stood up, fully intending to go up to the dorm (of course, she would _never_ think of doing anything else… ever) when she spotted a familiar person sitting in a far grouping of chairs.

"Neville?" she called before she could stop herself. Honestly, he hadn't seemed to be in the best mood to be talking with anyone.

Neville started, dropping the book that had been open on his lap. Figuring that she might as well go over and talk to him now that she'd scared him half to death, Bridget plopped down in the chair next to his and ignored how he hurriedly wiped at his eyes.

"Hey, Neville. Bad day, was it?"

"Not as bad as it could have been," he replied with his normal cheeriness, "I didn't end up in the Hospital Wing, at least."

"Oh! Neville, that hurt," Bridget said playfully, a mock look of hurt on her face. "Just because I don't have enough sense to go to Pomfrey when I'm supposed to doesn't mean—," she frowned, "actually, it does mean that I'm an idiot."

Neville looked mortified. "I—I didn't mean—"

"Nev, it's okay. I was just joking; I knew you weren't talking about that. You can't offend me that easily. She sighed. "Besides, that wasn't even the worst part of my day. I almost blew up Remus."

"Why?" Neville asked, giving her a confused look.

"I didn't do it on _purpose_," she defended. "I was trying to conjure fire and it didn't quite work out as planned."

"I've done that, too," Neville replied with a far-off, slightly frightened look. "Except it was in Potions with Professor Snape."

"I sincerely doubt he was as forgiving as Remus."

"No, he probably wasn't."

There was a moment of contemplative silence before Bridget snickered. "Was it funny?"

Neville's lips twitched. "He did do a funny yelp and hop around a lot."

Bridget's snickering turned to full-fledged laughter. "Oh, God, I can totally see that. I'm sorry I missed it."

He shrugged, sheepish although pleased, and she smiled at him. "So, I almost killed someone I care about, or at least roast him a bit, what's the worst thing that happened to you today?" Neville's grin faded. "Sorry," she said quickly, "you don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to." Bridget casted around for something—anything to change the subject. "What're you reading?"

"_Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean."_ He replied, holding the book up. "Professor Moody lent it to me."

"Sweet," Bridget said. "I have a question for you. What do you know about Gillyweed?"

* * *

Harry had been surprised to see Bridget after dinner. It wasn't that he had expected her to still be in the Hospital Wing (although with Pomfrey in charge, it wouldn't be a surprise), but he, honestly, had not expected to see the girl in the Common Room discussing something (he couldn't imagine what could be so interesting), enthusiastically with Neville Longbottom.

He and Ron had already planned on checking on their roommate. He had been upset after their Defense class, and Harry felt guilty that he hadn't been able to save him from having tea with their paranoid professor. Harry wasn't sure if Bridget's presence would help or harm the boys' attempts at finding out what was wrong, but he was still pleased when, after spotting him, a wide smile appeared on her face and she threw herself at him, hugging him tightly.

"I'm sorry," she said, blushing, once she had pulled away. Harry ignored the amused grin Ron was giving the two of them. "I hadn't meant to worry you; I'm just sick so often I'm not used to really worrying about it myself."

"It's okay."

She gave him such a relieved look he was glad he hadn't held a grudge. He had been worried that morning when Ginny had appeared in the dorm, telling him that she and Neville had taken Jet to the Hospital Wing. He had been even more worried to find her lying unconscious on one of the Hospital beds, looking much smaller than he remembered her being when they had met.

Harry wasn't used to worrying about others being in the Hospital Wing, usually he was the one sent there and, if he had reason to worry about his friends, they were normally fixed before he even woke up. The one time he had truly been worried about a friend had been when Hermione had been petrified, but even then he had been reassured that she would be righted soon enough. Besides, there was something different with this girl, Harry was _supposed_ to know when she got sick like this, at least that's what he had experienced at the Burrow and what Mr. Weasley had told him. This morning, however, he hadn't felt as much as an itch.

"Do you guys want to sit down?" Bridget asked, gesturing at the empty seats.

"Sure," Ron said. He dropped his bag on the floor and sat across from her. "But, we do have some serious homework to do, so we might not be much fun for a bit." Harry sat next to Bridget.

"Really?" she asked. Bridget hadn't caught the red-head's mischievous grin, although both Neville and Harry had. "What is it?"

"Divination, of course," he deadpanned.

Bridget gave him an incredulous look before finally cottoning on. She glanced at Harry and Ron's serious expressions and Neville's solemn nod of agreement, before promptly bursting into gales of laughter.

The four of them spent a bit over an hour predicting the three boys' imminent doom. It was probably the most fun Harry had had doing homework in a really long time, especially with a few of the suggestions Bridget had made for his death. They were more creative than he had come up with since third year, and he was sure Trelawney was going to love them.

* * *

Remus muttered the password to the Fat Lady after politely asking her how her day had been (it was always best to stay on the good side of the portraits) and climbed into the Common Room. His eyes scanned the nearly empty room before landing on the foursome farthest from him. He saw Biddy stiffen as she spotted him and watched as he walked over to them.

"I thought you were going straight to your dormitory," he said as he gave her a disappointed look.

"I _was_, but I got distracted."

Remus sighed, he really should have known better than to expect her to be sleeping in her dorm. "It doesn't matter. I found the information you wanted."

"Oh, that's okay, Rem," she replied, giving him another apologetic look, "Neville already explained it to me." Three pairs of eyes shot to Neville.

"That's very advance work, Neville."

"It was in the book Professor Moody lent me." The boy shrugged sheepishly, his ears turning red. "I've always liked plants."

"Well then, I'd better go. I have to meet Severus about my potion." He began to walk away but turned back to them after a few steps. "I saw Hermione in the library, she said she'd be along shortly."

"Oh, and I have to get some books for my Transfiguration essay," Neville grumbled. "I'll see you guys later. Bye, Prof—Remus."

* * *

"_What?"_ Bridget sputtered after processing what Hermione had just said. "You can't be serious. I'm all for equality and social progress, I can even understand this whole S.P.E.W. business to a degree, but that's going way too far."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the interruption. Although she knew Ron didn't normally pay attention to her ideas, and Harry was only marginally interested, they had _never_ interrupted her. "It makes sense. They're both underrepresented, mistakenly viewed, and discriminated against."

"House Elves are _not _the same as werewolves, Hermione. House Elves aren't even _human_."

"That shouldn't matter."

"But it does!" The two girls were standing close, furiously glaring at each other. Harry was sure that soon the two would be pulling out their wand, or (in Jet's case, at least) fists. Luckily, the tense silence was broken by an insistent tapping noise from the window.

"Hedwig!" he shouted before rushing to the other side of the room to pull the window open. The snowy owl flew into the room and landed on Harry's homework. "She's got an answer!"

* * *

Bridget softly petted Hedwig, who had perched herself on Bridget's knee after being ignored by her owner, and listened to Harry read the letter aloud.

_Harry—_

_I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again go straight to Dumbledore—they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is._

_I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry._

_Sirius_

_P.S. Did you say Biddy Griffins? I know the name and Moony's told me about her. She's trustworthy. –S_

Bridget suddenly felt cold and scared. Sirius was coming north? But the dementors were still after him, if he got caught….

Harry seemed to have a similar idea, as he had just hit himself in the forehead with his fist. She started and Hedwig flew off to find a more stable post.

"I shouldn't've told him!" Harry said furiously.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked, surprised.

"It's made him think he's got to come back!" Harry continued, slamming his fist on the table. Bridget took the clenched fist in her own hands and coerced it open, lacing her fingers with his and rubbing his forearm with her other hand. He barely noticed, although she felt the muscles under her hands relax significantly. "Coming back because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I haven't got anything for you," he snapped at Hedwig, "you'll have to go to the Owlry if you want food."

The offended bird took off, hitting Harry with her wing as she flew away.

"Harry," Hermione started.

"I'm going to bed." He pulled his hand out of Bridget's and stood up. "See you in the morning."

"Harry!" Bridget ran after him and pulled him into yet another hug. "It'll be okay." She brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Alright? It'll be fine."

His eyes softened a little at her optimistic smile and nodded shortly before continuing his trek back to his dormitory.

She walked back towards the girls' dorm, stopping only once she reached Hermione and Ron. "I'm, um, going to bed, too, Gin's waiting up for me."

She sighed and finished the walk up to her dorm, soon finding herself in the room she shared with Ginny, on her bed, clutching her pillow to her chest and taking quick, shallow breaths. It was there that Ginny Weasley found her almost a quarter of an hour later. She stopped toweling her hair dry and, for a few short moments, just stared.

"Bridget?"

The girl started and put the pillow back on the bed with shaking hands. She gave Ginny a weak smile. "Hey, Gin. Have a nice shower?"

"Are you feeling sick again?"

"No, not at all." Her smile grew a little stronger. "So, you hung out with Neville today That's good, he needs some more friends."

"Jet, don't change the subject." Ginny sat in front of her still-distraught friend. "I'm sorry if I'm going about this all wrong, Hermione's my only real girl friend and I grew up with boys, but what the hell is wrong?"

Bridget's lips quirked up and a spark that had been missing shone from her eyes. "Don't worry, the overly-emotional heart-to-hearts some girls have make me nervous, too."

"Bridget," Ginny's voice was serious, "what's wrong?"

She looked down, biting her bottom lip, and her brow furrowed. "Ginny, I'm scared." Before the red-head could respond, Bridget continued, speaking in a rush of words that could barely be understood. "I mean, I've been scared before, I've been worried and nervous and all that rot. I've just—I've just never been _this_ scared before." Her frown deepened. There was something, something nudging the edge of her memory. She shook her head sharply. "At least I don't think I have." With wide, teary eyes, Bridget looked up at Ginny for the first time since beginning her tirade. "Gin, I'm bloody _terrified_ and I have no idea _why."_

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_** Okay, so there it is. Finally. Took me long enough, eh? Um… I'm not going to give myself another deadline as I'll probably just update late, anyways. Please review, it makes me feel happy inside.

_Thanks to __**Prongsgrl, **_and _**White Alchemist Taya **__for reviewing, __**Absh**__ and __**KelseyHalliwell **__for putting this story on Story Alert, __**Silverbug**_ _for putting me on Author Alert._

**First Posted: **11/18/07

**Last Edited: **6/21/08


	11. So, No Pressure Then

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own anything except for my original characters, and whatever is original of the plot (which is, I am quite proud to say, most of this chapter).

_**Author's Notes: **_Well, I wouldn't say it's _late, _as I didn't give myself a deadline, but it is _later_ than I had anticipated. It is here, though. So… go ahead and read.

* * *

Chapter Ten: So, No Pressure Then

"_Love is everything it's cracked up to be. . . . It's really worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for." –Erica Jong_

Bridget yawned, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her eyes as she pushed the eggs around her plate. It was way too early for her to be up eating breakfast, and on a Saturday, no less. It was _so_ unnatural that there were only seven other absolutely _insane_ people in the Great Hall.

"Morning, Jet." Well, eight insane people.

"Morning, Harry." She stared at him as he sat down across from her, a small frown on her lips. "What're you doing up?"

He piled food on his plate in true teenage male style, filling it with pretty much every edible item in front of him. Bridget continued to stare at him curiously, munching on the piece of bacon she had managed to skewer on her fork in an absent-minded way.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Uncle Albus," she said immediately, almost cutting him off. She gestured at him with her bacon. "Your turn."

"Owled Sirius back."

Bridget wasn't exactly how she knew but there was a bit more to all of this than Harry owling his godfather. Perhaps it was because of those stupid books or the worried tone she could hear in his voice. Or it could be because he was glaring at his cereal like it was an incarnation of Voldemort, Hitler, and the Teletubbies all in one.

"Something wrong?" she asked, setting down her apple slice.

"Nothing."

"Don't fib, Harry, remember: I know all—or a lot, anyways. Knowing all would be way too creepy."

Bridget surveyed him over her glass of water (pumpkin juice just didn't cut it for her) and he relented after a moment. "I'm worried about him. He shouldn't be coming back."

She frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah, I see what you're saying and I agree; it _is _dangerous. But, it might be safer for him here. Not many people know about his doggy self and the Ministry's proclaimed from the heavens that he's left the country." The bacon flew off of her fork without her noticing and she frowned when she realized that it had disappeared. After poking a suspicious looking sausage, she gave up on the meats and moved on to the eggs. "People feel safe, they're not looking for him here. Besides, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on keeping out of sight if all he's worried about is _you_. If he's here he'll _know _that you're okay." He didn't say anything. "Oh, for the love of—Harry, he'll be fine."

They continued eating their breakfasts in silence until Bridget realized that the Hall was almost full of semi-awake, chattering students. She dropped her fork and grabbed her backpack, almost tripping over the bench as she tried to leave. "Sorry, Harry, I have my meeting with Uncle Albus."

"I'll walk with you." Harry stood up, too, taking one last bite of his eggs. "If I don't wake Ron up, no one will."

It didn't take very long to get to Dumbledore's office, and Bridget told the gargoyle the password as soon as they reached it. But, before she went up the spiraling staircase, Jet turned back around.

"Um, Harry?"

He immediately turned to face her, hands in his pockets. "Yeah?"

"Professor McGonagall suggested," she began, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, "and Remus, too—uh, do you think you could, um, teach me to fly? They said it would be better than having me take lessons with the Firsties, well First _Years, _and Remus apparently isn't all too coordinated—"

"I," Harry interrupted. One of his hands emerged from his pocket to run through his hair as he realized how loud his voice sounded in the empty corridor. He continued speaking in a softer voice, "I already said I would. How about tonight?"

"Thanks, Harry, thanks a lot."

She smiled at him, reassured both by the familiar gesture and the prospect of learning how to fly, and walked up the winding staircase humming Hedwig's Theme to herself.

* * *

This meeting, Bridget thought to herself, was a lot more interesting than the ones she had had the past few weekends, _much _more interesting. And it wasn't that she disliked seeing the Headmaster (the man was very interesting in his own right); it was just that the visits didn't seem to be either interesting or informative. In fact, if Uncle Albus hadn't been so fascinating by himself, Bridget would've called their meetings downright boring.

But even if they had moved on to more captivating studies this week, she wasn't sure if she was entirely happy with the subject matter. It could be because she just didn't _like_ it or maybe it was because she was still processing it all: setting tutors on fire is a bad idea—accident or not, Time Turners, alternate universes (looks like fanfiction got something right, at least), Fate, Aetuslimen—wait, _Fate?_

Okay, anyone with any sense at _all_ would be unhappy with the turn Bridget's life had just taken.

"I was _meant_ to be here by _Fate?" _she asked. She hadn't even realized that she had said the words aloud until her uncle responded.

"Yes, my dear, you were chosen to be here. Every decision you make changes the course of time—for better or worse."

"Oh." Bridget blinked at him, her eyes wide and shocked as comprehension filled them. Her voice was shaky, as was the grin she had forced on her face, "So, no pressure, then."

* * *

Bridget pushed the stray strands of hair back, sighing to herself as she stared up at the door to the Hospital Wing. "And now for my monthly session of torture," she muttered to herself. This whole deal was, once again, getting to be a bit much.

Why did she even _have_ to go to the Hospital Wing? She wasn't sick or anything. All right, so maybe she had ignored her headaches a bit longer than she should have, but she had learned her lesson. And, okay, they might just be right with the whole not eating enough thing, but she lost her appetite when she got stressed, and what was more stressful than finding out that your entire life had been one _huge lie?_

Right… she could sorta see why she had to see the nurse, now. That didn't mean she had to like it, though.

She hauled the door open and walked briskly to her designated bed (which was, Ginny had informed her one day, next to the one often occupied by Harry) and pulled out a book to read while she waited.

_The topic of Alternated Universes is one that is understandably poorly researched. However, it is commonly believed that with each decision one makes a new universe is created. Therefore, an infinite number of alternate universes currently exist._

_There are other, less probable theories, including one created by a documented Traveler and prominent researcher. Being one of the few people who have gone public as a Traveler, thus far—_

"Miss Griffins," a voice interrupted. Bridget looked up and snapped the book shut; Uncle Albus had said that the only people allowed to see it were Harry and Remus. (Hermione would have a cow, a book she wasn't allowed to read… if she knew, that was. . . which she won't) "You're here on time."

"I know, shocking, isn't it?" The nurse did sound shocked. She looked around the nearly empty room and turned back to Bridget with a frown.

"You're here alone?"

She looked surprised, but quickly pulled herself together while Bridget silently glowered at her. She wasn't an _invalid_, she just got… lost sometimes. It was a big castle! And everything changed, for the love of God, there were moving staircases, and doors and walls that pretended to be walls and doors. It was complete insanity (and more than a little cool). But, that was no reason for her to need an escort everywhere, even if Remus and her friends tended to make sure she got where she need to be safe and sound. Pomfrey, however, seemed to be agree with Remus's assessment that Bridget had no valid sense of direction what-so-ever, and tsk'ed disapprovingly as she easily ignored Bridget's glower and performed the numerous charms it seemed to take to keep the her health in good condition. What a multi-tasker; it must be her God-given talent.

But, for once, it seemed like the crazed nurse was actually pleased with the results. That was new.

"Good, Miss Griffins, you've nearly gained a stone. It'll still be a few before we can get you to 9 stone 9."

Bridget stared at her blankly, blinked, and continued staring. "I have no idea what that means."

"You're underweight. But, with Miss Weasley's help," a bell chimed and Pomfrey frowned at the door to her office before turning to the door of the Hospital Wing. She apparently could see something that Bridget couldn't because she gave a long-suffering sigh. "I will be right back, dear."

The woman left, muttering to herself about inconsiderate, danger-seeking teenage heroes. A few moments later Pomfrey returned, looking chagrined, although she was trying to hide it (the pink cheeks gave her away a bit).

"Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley are here to pick you up."

Oh, that made sense. Harry was a danger-seeking, teenage hero, even if he didn't quite realize that he was seeking danger. He did get injured quite often, as did Ginny, who had a tendency to get into duels in the hall when people annoyed her too much or bothered her friends one time too many— A thought, as usual, occurred to her and manifested itself orally before she could even process it properly. "Will you teach me Healing?"

"Why in Merlin's name would you need to know Healing, Miss Griffins?"

"I'm friends with Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and _Harry Potter."_

Pomfrey glanced, once again, at the door to her office, and seemed to consider what Bridget had told her. "Right, perhaps we can work something out."

* * *

Harry glared at the door. He couldn't believe Pomfrey. Here Harry was, trying to be a good friend and that woman thinks that he's 'played the hero _again' _and gotten himself hurt.

"Harry?" Bridget asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Is there something wrong?"

"Pomfrey," he began, gesturing angrily at the door.

Before he could continue Ginny burst into laughter. Bridget frowned down at her, looking confused and a little worried while Harry just glared at her. He had _just _gotten her to shut up about the whole incident. When she managed to gain control of herself a few seconds later, brushing the tears out of her eyes, he turned back to Bridget and spoke. "That—_wench_ thought that I was injured. I hadn't even gone through the door when she just _assumed_ that I had gotten hurt. She was _lecturing_ me!"

Ginny began laughing again, leaning heavily against the wall for support as she tried to stop. They stared at her briefly before deciding that ignoring the amused red-head was best.

"I'm sure she meant wel— wait, did you just call Madam Pomfrey a wench?" Bridget asked, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile.

Harry's cheeks flushed. "Well, she is."

"Maybe, but _wench?_ Where did you even learn that word? No, why would you _use _that word?"

Harry didn't respond and Ginny, who had finally composed herself, slung an arm around Bridget's shoulders. "He must get it from Ron. Ron's picked up Mum's speech, and she says words like that all the time."

"Oh," Bridget replied, still grinning at Harry and speaking to Ginny like he wasn't even there. "That makes sense, you know, Harry once called this boy on our block a 'disreputable scoundrel.' I didn't really think much of it then, but now. . ."

"Really? I didn't think he was that bad. What had the poor lad done?"

"That's _it,"_ she whispered conspiratorially, "I don't know. He just asked me for directions."

With almost identical grins the girls turned around continued their discussion out of Harry's hearing. He stared after them, a bit shocked at how differently Bridget acted when Ginny was around. When she was hanging out with him, Ron, and Hermione she was quiet, even shy, only speaking when asked a question or when Hermione got her riled up.

Now, though, and the few times he had seen her with Neville and Ginny, she was much more relaxed. She turned around and gave him a teasing smile, her eyes shining with amusement. Bridget seemed more like the girl he had gotten to know over the summer, the one he hadn't realized was gone until he saw the contrast himself.

She was acting more like the girl he hadn't realized he missed until now.

* * *

"How is she?"

Pomfrey jumped at the sudden voice. "Mister—," her eyes softened when she realized who it was. "She's making progress. I'll get her to her peak health soon enough." There was a dripping sound and the nurse looked down. "Are you injured?"

The man followed her gaze to his hand. "Oh." In a cautious, fluid motion he wiped the hand on his trousers. "It's not all mine," he said softly. "I'll be okay."

"Nonsense. It'll be simple enough to fix." She pulled out her wand and began reciting spells to heal his injuries.

"I didn't want to," he said after a moment. "I did what I had to."

"I understand, my boy," she replied kindly as she finished cleaning him up. "It's completely understandable."

"Is she really all right?"

Her voice got sharper as she narrowed her eyes at the worried boy (no matter what he had been through, he was still just a boy). "She's certainly better than she was before. Don't you ruin it."

"I can't just—I have to. I don't have a choice."

Pomfrey sighed. "Yes, I know, dear. Just," she laid a hand on his shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting way, "just try to be careful. She's so delicate and I remember how it was. It's going to be very difficult for her."

"I know." He bowed his head and Pomfrey could barely hear his next words. "Am I doing the right thing? I don't want her to hate me."

"She won't. I don't think she could." She gave him a kind smile before leaving her office to deal with the Ravenclaw who had just walked in the Wing. "I've never seen two people love each other so much."

She gently shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the darkness. He nervously ran a hand through his hair before letting his head drop into his hands. "I'm so sorry, Biddy."

* * *

"So, what was all that about Fate?" Ginny asked several minutes later. The two girls had left Harry behind in the Library with Hermione, a Potions essay to write, and a promise to meet him later that evening for Bridget's flying lessons. Now they were sitting under a tree near the Lake, munching on some cookies they had filched from the Kitchens (like that was really all that difficult), and discussing the information Bridget's Uncle Albus had given her that morning.

"Apparently, Fate—I didn't even know that was a real entity, is it?—sent me here for some reason or another and, by being here, I'm changing the course of time. Isn't that just _brill_?"

She sighed and began picking at the grass in what she hoped to be a despondent way, managing to pull out a huge clump at Ginny's unexpected response.

"It is. It's completely brilliant."

Bridget put the grass back in the general area it had originated from. She absently pat it down as she responded, "How exactly is that brilliant? I was being _sarcastic. _I can't handle that kind of pressure! I hold the future of the world in my ink-stained hands."

"So does Harry," Ginny pointed out. She leaned against the tree and closed her eyes. "Although I don't think he looks like he spilled his inkwell all over his hands and I'm pretty sure he hasn't realized that he's a hero yet." She opened one eye. "Was the world really bad enough that it needed to be changed?"

"How am I supposed to know?" she grumbled. "My memory's gone."

Ginny threw a cookie at her head. "Don't be a git."

"I'm not," Bridget bit into the cookie. "I'm being _honest_. It's not my fault that they suppressed all my memories about this world."

"It'll be fine, Jet." She leaned forward, "You're learning faster than _Hermione_ did."

"Hermione was eleven and she didn't have a private tutor. And if you say that to her I won't _survive _to make any huge mistakes in the fabric of our world and time itself; she'll glare at me until I keel over."

"I won't mention a thing. So, let's get to the important stuff now."

"The _important_ stuff?"

Ginny smiled at her. "Yup."

"What exactly is more important than my world-changing abilities?"

"Easy." Ginny lay stomach down on the ground, her chin resting on her hands, and grinned at Bridget. "What's with you and Harry?"

"We're, uh," Bridget looked at Ginny like she had completely lost her mind, "friends. _Why?_"

"What do you mean 'why'?" she responded. "The entire school thinks you're dating, and with the way you act with each other, that's not all too surprising."

"They think we're—what?" This information was too much for Bridget to process. "They think we're—why would they think that? That's—he's the only person I really knew besides Remus, and it would be weird even for _me _if I spent all my time with my tutor, as young and hot as everyone seems to think he is."

"Let's see," Ginny said, ignoring Bridget's comment about Remus, "you're the pretty, well-connected, smart new girl, and he's the good-looking, powerful, rich boy hero, both popular, well-liked and in Gryffindor, in the same year. It's not that difficult to figure out, Jet. According to all the unspoken laws of Hogwarts, you two should be practically engaged. You probably would be if you both had grown up here."

Bridget's mouth opened and closed a couple times. "I—that is a really odd thing to say, Gin."

"We're teenagers, Jet, we're _supposed _to talk mercilessly about our love—" (_"Love?"_) "lives. It's normal."

"Ginny, love, has it ever occurred to you that we're really not all that normal?"

* * *

Harry had rather large hands. Not huge, ungainly large hands, like Crabbe and Goyle (she still didn't know who was who) probably did, but they were. . . big with long fingers, strong. And focusing on these two hands curled firmly around her own, showing her the proper way to grip his broomstick was the only reason Bridget hadn't freaked out yet (oh, heavens, didn't that just sound _so wrong _and she was spending too much time talking with Draco if she was thinking like that).

Bridget didn't understand what was wrong with her; it wasn't like she had ever gotten motion sick or was afraid of heights or anything like that. She used to get yelled at for being too adventurous. For the love of God, she had once decided that jumping off a cliff into a choppy ocean was a _good _idea.

Well, actually, even if it wasn't necessarily a _good_ idea, it hadn't been a bad one either. She hadn't gotten hurt, at least. Both her mum and her best friend had lectured her on her stupid, half-baked ideas, but it had, overall, been pretty fun.

So why in the _world_ was _this_ so dang difficult?

"Ready?" Harry asked, interrupting her thoughts and removing his nice, distracting hands from her own.

Wait, no, of course she wasn't ready. Couldn't he _see _that her hands were shaking? If he was even _looking _at her hands, that was. Bridget had no idea; she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye, or the face. God, she hated being scared.

"Um, yeah, sure." She was such a bloody liar.

Bridget was no higher than seven feet in the air when disaster hit, as it always seemed to. The rest of the world faded out as her mind clouded over with what had a vague similarity to memory. There was, however, the small fact that she had no idea where its overwhelming, sensory self came from.

The sharp, bitter taste of blood flooded her mouth accompanied with its metallic smell and there was that slight feeling of disorientation that came with the bad, don't-you-dare-fall-asleep concussions. She was sure her eyes had closed against that feeling, but a blurred streak of colors and light still streaked past behind her eyelids, making her feel even more confused and nauseous. The cotton against her cheek and in her hand felt too rough and strange, but the warm, hard body and it's steady, comforting heartbeat reminded her that she was alive, and finally safe.

Then the fog lifted and she was on her back, with Harry leaning over her, fussing in a decidedly awkward fashion.

Bridget sat up, her mind still fuzzy. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Harry answered. He helped her sit up, even though she was sure she could've managed on her own. "You were doing fine then you fainted and fell off, onto me." He gave her a sheepish smile.

"I did? Oh, God, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" She felt absolutely _horrible. _What if he was hurt? It would be because she had asked him to do this and then didn't have enough sense to stop all the madness when she started feeling… off or whatever it was.

Harry stared at her. "Am I— are _you_ okay? You're the one who fainted!"

"I did _not _faint!" she protested. She had never fainted in her entire life, including that time they had found a dead person in the woods, and she wasn't about to start _now _because of a _broomstick. _That was absolutely ridiculous. Harry didn't bother responding, but stared at her sternly over his glasses. She had years of practice with such looks, though and Bridget refused to back down. She glared right back. "I _passed out._"

"Sure you did. Do you want me to get Pomfrey?" he asked in a reluctant voice.

"NO!" Bridget shouted, gesturing so widely she almost hit him. He gave her a startled look and she took a deep, supposedly calming breath. "I mean, no thanks. It's just, if you—if you take me to that woman she'll never let me leave! I swear to God she _must_ be nuts or something. I should not be reminded of that lady from Misery by my _school nurse._ It's wrong in so many ways."

"I see," Harry said in the voice of someone who certainly didn't see anything other than the fact that his companion was probably nuts.

Bridget didn't seem to notice. "You've read _Misery?"_ she asked. She tilted her head to the right a little, eyes wide and curious, like she normally did when asking a question that really had no bearing with anything important or even on-topic, but still interested her. "Has it even been published yet?"

Harry hadn't had much exposure to this side of Bridget—the one that had lost her focus and was trying in her own desperate way to find something that made any sense at all. In fact, he hadn't seen her like this at all since the past summer, and was caught completely off-guard. "Um, no. I don't know."

"Right," she frowned, biting her bottom lip, and began gesturing again, "well, it's a rather disturbing book—complete with a psychotic ax-wielding nurse. At least I think she was, I read it when I was, like 12 or something, so it's all a bit hazy. Okay, now that I think about it, Pomfrey's not nearly as bad as that woman."

Harry watch as her hands collapsed into a useless pile on the ground. He looked a little worried. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the Infirmary?"

"Positive," she responded with a decisive nod. "I want to keep learning."

"But you just _fainted."_

Really, if he thought _that_ was going to help his case, he had another thing coming. "I _passed out_," she said evenly, one eyebrow raised. He didn't challenge her, so Bridget continued speaking. "We'll figure something out. You're a hero type person and I always figure it out in the end."

"I'm not a—"

"What are you two doing?" Bridget started at the voice and watched as Remus changed direction and walked towards them. "Is there any particular reason you're sitting in the middle of the Quidditch—"

"REMUS!" she jumped up and had her arms around his neck faster than she knew was possible. She pretended that she didn't notice, but the poor boy looked absolutely terrified as he shot Harry a questioning look and wrapped his own arms around her trembling frame.

"I was teaching her to fly," Harry supplied in his usual helpful way, "when she faint…" Bridget let go of Remus, and glared at Harry pointedly, "when she passed out."

Remus turned his now extremely worried gaze to Bridget, who ignored it with the stubborn streak no one in her family liked to take credit for. "You passed out?"

She smiled brightly at the befuddled tutor and waved a dismissive hand. " 'Tis nothing, Remmy."

"But you—_Remmy?_"

Bridget nodded. "Yes, nicknames are good."

After a moment of considering his options, Remus seemed to decide that ignoring the new nickname was his best option. "Right," he said slowly as Bridget bent down and picked up Harry's broom, and, humming _A Pirate's Life for Me, _began inspecting it. Out of the two, Harry was clearly the one with more sense right now, even if he was staring at Bridget with poorly disguised fear and worry, so Remus spoke to him, "Sometimes people who've had traumatic experiences flying need a little extra help when they're being taught."

Bridget stopped making sure that she hadn't damaged the only present Harry had gotten from his godfather as something obvious occurred to her. "Remus, what are you doing down here? You said you weren't very good at flying."

"I came to see if either of you had heard from Padfoot," he said. His normal kind smile was back, and he seemed happy that her behavior had returned to normal. "Miss Weasley said you were down here."

"Ginny," Bridget said. "She gets frustrated that you call the rest of us by our first names, but still call her 'Miss Weasley.' If you don't start calling her Ginny she's going to tear into you like a lioness into a newly dead gazelle carcass."

His lips twitched like they did when he was trying not to show he was amused. "All right, I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. And Padfoot—it's unwise to call him by his given name, I believe—said he was coming north against all advice."

Remus's face went a previously unseen shade of pale. "That's why—I have to go talk some _sense _into that _idiotic,_ mangy _mutt._ I'll see you both tomorrow." He turned and stalked off towards the Owlry.

"For some reason, I don't think he approves of Padfoot's cunning plan," Bridget muttered after Remus was out of sight.

Harry seemed equally stunned at his former professor's outburst. "Did he just call Sirius a mangy mutt?"

"An _idiotic_ mangy mutt, I believe."

There was a moment of contemplative, not-at-all-awkward silence. "I think I have an idea."

Bridget gave him a pleased, unsurprised smile, "I told you we'd figure it out."

* * *

It wasn't as weird riding a broom with Harry Potter as Bridget would've thought. He was very good at flying, even if he did tend to go a little fast. She didn't really mind that all too much; she had always thought that roller coasters were a great load of fun and she was one of the few people who were insane enough to ride in a car Xavier was driving. Besides, Harry was holding onto her so tightly she didn't think she could _jump_ off if she had wanted to.

Then the broom bucked unexpectedly and she was plunged back into the memory, only this time Harry was there. He tightened his grip on her and everything, somehow, seemed even realer. There was still the blood and the disorientation and the colors, the rough cotton and steady heartbeat, but now there were new sensations. She could smell grass, soap, and, faintly, cinnamon, beneath the strong metallic odor, and it was so familiar but she just _couldn't_ remember _why._ She had no idea where any of this came from or why, beneath all this frightening imagery, there was a feeling of safety, of pure reassurance and protection, that had always been there, even if it hadn't been obvious before.

Quite suddenly they were on the ground and Harry was holding her up, sounding unsure and worried as he asked, "Are you okay?"

"I—I think I want to go back now."

He started guiding her back to the Common Room, not once letting go or asking if she'd prefer to go to the Hospital Wing. Even if it wasn't a particularly thoughtful or kind gesture, it was so appropriate and _comforting_ that she was torn between breaking down into sobs right there and letting the terrified boy take care of her or waiting until she reached her bed and letting Ginny, who would be less comforting but also less scared, mother her.

It wasn't until they had reached the Common Room that the realization that had been simmering in the back of her mind for the last half hour reached the forefront of her thoughts. "This is the first time I've been _near _a flying broom. Why in the _world_ would I be traumatized and how would Remus know? I didn't even tell him I had a weird flashback thing!"

Harry looked down at her. "You had a flashback?"

"Yeah, that's why I freaked." She noticed that everyone in the room, excluding Ginny, Neville, and Hermione, who were obviously trying not to, were staring at her and Harry. No wonder everyone thought they were dating, he had his freaking arm around her shoulders and she was leaning on him. Oh, heavens, this was a mess. She tried not to turn red. "Grab a corner, Ginny and I'll go get some food and I'll explain."

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**: Dear heavens, this was a painful chapter to get out. I wrote it about a week after I posted the last chapter, but then, when I was re-typing it, I realized it completely sucked, so I trashed it. Anyways, I've been rather busy and it took me long enough just to get this out, so I decided to post in on a weekday, unlike I did previously. 

So, sorry about the late (really, really late) update and the next chapter should be up in a week or two… I'm almost done with it right now.

Thanks to _**White Alchemist Taya**_ for the review, _**StarPup **_for fav'ing WRF, and _**Ireth Tinuviel Isilra**_ for adding WRF as a story alert.

_**Next chapter: **__Hermione and Bridget have yet another argument about House Elves. Sirius responds to Harry and Remus's attempts to keep him out of the country. Bridget learns more about the Wizarding World in a very unconventional way. Finally, the Triwizard Tournament delegations arrive, marking the start of the Tournament._

**First Posted: **2/15/08

**Last Updated: **6/21/08


	12. Figure It Out

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything except what I do own. I'm sure you'll figure out which is which. References for this chapter comes from __Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire__, U.S. Edition, Chapter 15: Beauxbatons and Durmstrang P. 228-240, and Chapter 16: The Goblet of Fire P. 246-147._

_**Author's Notes: **_Okay, so I finally updated. Aren't you all so very happy? Parts of it are taken straight from the book as it does include the arrival of the delegations, but the bits that aren't do have pertinent (and hopefully interesting) information. I still wish for you to enjoy reading. Have fun.

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Figure It Out

'_The unreal is more powerful than the real. Because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because it's only intangibles, ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die.' –Chuck Palahniuk, __Choke_

School was surprisingly uneventful in the following weeks. After that first flying lesson, there hadn't been any more crippling incidents, although every once in a while she had flashes of seemingly new memories. And, despite her constant questioning, Remus hadn't explained his statement at the pitch at all. In fact, he refused to acknowledge that he'd even _made _it.

Bridget was doing well in school, advancing, according to Remus, either as expected or faster except in Arithmancy which, she soon learned, was basically a magical math class, and History. Sadly, the magic (and the divining—although one never mentioned that bit to Hermione) didn't make the math part of the subject any more interesting. History, on the other hand, was fascinating. It might have been because she already enjoyed the subject or it just could be because Remus was such a big history buff that his enthusiasm was contagious.

She had been walking back from one of those interesting history classes when she noticed a crowd in front of the doors to the Great Hall. What could possibly be going on? She was _hungry._ She caught sight of a now familiar shock of red hair.

"Hey, Gin," Bridget greeted.

"Hi, Jet."

"Um, what's going on?"

"I don't know; I can't see anything and no one's _moving_!" An unnaturally tall third year turned around and glared at her. Ginny glared right back; freaky height really had no effect on her—just look at Ron. "Well, how long is it supposed to take?"

Bridget shot the boy a look, and spoke before he could argue with either of them, "Well, that means I won't be able to see either."

"Hi, girls, what's going on?"

"Hey, Nev," they responded in unison.

"We don't know." Bridget shrugged.

Ginny glared at the third-year again. "We can't see."

"Oh." Almost simultaneously the two girls turned and grinned up at the boy. "What?"

"Neville, hon," Bridget answered, "you're _tall._"

"Oh, right." He looked over their head, craning his neck and squinting so he could make out the words.

"_Triwizard Tournament_

_"The delegation from Durmstrang and Queen Ka'iulani will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday the 30__th__ of October. Lessons will end half an hour early—_

_"Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast._

"Nice," Neville said after he finished reading, "that's Potions."

"Charms for me."

Bridget shrugged. "I don't know. Remus keeps changing my schedule on me. C'mon, let's go inside now; I'm hungry."

The conversation in the Hall was filled with talk of the Triwizard Tournament. Not long after they entered the other students remembered that Bridget was from Hawaii, and, therefore, an obvious expert on the subject, and she was hounded for any information about her hometown's school. She really didn't know anything other than what Hermione had managed to learn during a research session.

She couldn't do much to control it, but the constant barrage of questions was becoming very annoying. Both Harry and Ginny had realized that she was almost as clueless about the entire situation as the rest of them were and began to tell people off or redirect the conversation whenever it came up, with Neville and Ron soon following suit.

Hermione had her own approach to the problem and, when someone would ask Bridget a question, would launch into a lecture straight from _The Complete History of Queen Ka'iulani Academy: A Traditional Approach to a Modern Education_. It wasn't long before her fellow students stopped questioning Bridget near Hermione, a fact she took full advantage of. Partially because of the increased time they spent together, Bridget realized that as long as they steered away from too controversial or mundane topics (i.e. House Elves or Bridget's lackluster studying habits) it was interesting to talk with her. Hermione certainly seemed to enjoy talking to someone who actually knew something about Wizarding History and magical theory without being decades older.

Nevertheless, this newfound camaraderie didn't stop Bridget from getting irritated with her the morning of the delegation's arrival. The increase in questioning and her headache probably hadn't helped the situation either.

"_House-elves!" _Hermione was saying, looking rather manic. "Not once in over a thousand pages, does _Hogwarts, A History _mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!"

Harry and Ron simultaneously turned to their breakfasts, trying to ignore the girl like they did whenever she started on about her cause. Bridget opened her mouth to respond, but decided at the last minute that she didn't feel like arguing with anyone, and, instead, shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. God, she hated oatmeal; this was just an all-around bad morning.

"That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!"

"You're a very angry person, aren't you?

Half of Gryffindor table (and part of Hufflepuff's) stopped what they were doing and stared at the two girls. Even Harry, Ron, and George were watching, waiting to see if they'd have to intercede and the two girls pulled wands on each other. Fred just looked grateful that someone else had decided to help him convince Hermione that her S.P.E.W. campaign was nuts.

"Excuse me?" Hermione squeaked.

"You're trying to change an admittedly unjust system," Bridget said, her voice calm and light, "which is a very admirable thing to do. But you're not convincing or understanding in the very least and you don't even _try_ to listen to other points of view. Frankly, you sound more like someone trying to start a violent upheaval rather than revolutionize a system already in place. Calm down and be rational, or at least _pretend_ to be open-minded about the whole thing otherwise no one's ever going to take you seriously, least of all the pureblood aristocrats who this would affect the most. Hermione, they grew _up _playing the politics game; you still have to learn it."

"I would think that _you _ofall people would understand what I'm trying to do."

"It's the House Elves who need to get fed up, Hermione, and you don't even have their _support._

Hermione opened her mouth, but was interrupted by the arrival of the mail. Bridget wasn't sure if this was a lucky thing or not. She didn't really feel like arguing, even if she hadn't managed to keep her mouth shut, but Hermione had looked more intrigued than anything, which was new.

But even Hermione wouldn't continue the conversation when Hedwig arrived. Harry's owl soared towards them, fluttering down in front of the wizard and holding out her leg, looking exhausted. Once Harry pulled off the letter she turned to Bridget, who she was more likely to get food and sympathy from. Bridget, in turn, fed her some sausage and smoothed out her feathers.

Harry glanced at the twins, who were now talking about the Triwizard Tournament (they had been cautious about the subject after having Ginny, Hermione, and even Harry 'remind' them that badgering Bridget wasn't going to get them much information). When he was sure that the boys weren't paying them any attention, he began reading the letter in a whisper,

_"Nice try, Harry._

_"I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself. Don't forget what I said about your scar._

_"Sirius_

_"Oh, and next time don't tell Remus."_

"Why d'you have to keep changing owls?" Ron asked, keeping quieter than Bridget had ever heard him before.

"Hedwig'll attract too much attention," Hermione replied. "She stands out. A snowy owl that keeps returning to wherever he's hiding. . . I mean, they're not native birds, are they?"

"No. Snowy owls, or the _Bubo scandiacus, _are native to the Arctic tundra and grasslands, like in northern Alaska and Canada. They very rarely come farther south, especially females, and are almost never found in forested areas." She looked up and noticed that everyone, even Hedwig, was staring at her. "What? I watch Animal Channel sometimes."

"What's Animal Channel?"

"Er, nevermind Ron. Someday I'll explain the wonders of television to you; I think you'd like it." She glanced over at the letter and picked it out of Harry's hand, frowning. "This handwriting looks familiar." She continued examining the note, fine creases lining her forehead. "Hm, I must have a friend with similar handwriting."

Bridget handed the letter back to Harry.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked. He seemed to be quite curious today. "You look a bit peaky."

"I'm just a little tired, and I had a headache, but I've already gone to Pomfrey."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

"Yes, of course. Ginny would drag me there by my hair if I didn't go voluntarily, wouldn't you, Gin?"

"Of course." She grinned at Bridget, who rolled her eyes. "It's my duty as a friend."

* * *

Remus set down a heavy, leather-bound book on the desk in front of Bridget, somehow releasing a cloud of dust, even though between Filch and Pince there should be no dust in sight. She scrunched her nose up and waved the dust away with her hands.

"What's this?" she asked. The book had no title.

"We are going to have History lessons until Mr. Malfoy come for your Potions class."

Bridget's eyes lit up and she leaned forward, already caressing the cover with both hands. "Really?"

"Yes. First we'll go over the basic legal and social systems in the States and here. Then we shall cover your family history."

"Oh."

Remus frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I just," she looked down, fidgeting with her hands, "I just haven't given much thought to my family. I try not to."

"They thought they were doing what's best for you."

"Yes, I know." She opened the book, flipping through the pages absently. "I just don't understand why."

* * *

"Now add the dragon's blood," Draco intoned, lazily turning the page of his textbook and scribbling something on the parchment in front of him.

Bridget tilted the bottle, but frowned and pulled it back from the boiling cauldron before anything could drip out. "But—"

"No buts, Griffins, just put it in."

"It's _Bridget,_ Draco," she said, rolling her eyes with a tired sigh, "not Griffins. And I don't think that—"

"Add it," he looked up at her over his book, raising a single eyebrow, "_Griffins._"

"You're so difficult, Drake." He glared at her, which she ignored. "It's really not all that difficult to say: Brid-jet, or just Jet, if Bridget's too much trouble." Bridget tipped the vial, keeping her eyes level with it. "Fine. I'll put it in, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Draco marked his page with his quill and shut the book. "Warn me about _what?"_

"Too late. You'll figure it out."

She squinted and, biting her bottom lip, carefully tipped the vial until one. . . two. . . three drops fell into the cauldron. When the final drop left the vial, Bridget stuffed her finger in the opening and dived under the table.

"What are—?"

_BOOM!_

She peeked out from under her arms once the sound of falling debris faded. It took a second for the purple smoke to clear and another second for the scene in front of her to register. There were rocks on the floor and the desks closest to her own, where the dust was still settling. And in the middle of the destruction was Draco, sitting wide-eyed with orange soot covering his face and his hair sticking in every direction.

"I tried to warn you," she said as she crawled out from under the table.

Bridget frowned as she poked at the half-melted cauldron with her wand. There was a small puddle of green goop at the bottom that she felt would be best left alone.

"Did you do everything I told you, _exactly _as I told you to?" he asked in a slow, measured voice.

She turned sharply, frowning at him. "Of course I did. I'm not stupid. You're the one who made a basic mistake and wouldn't listen to me when I tried to tell you about it." He glared at her and she continued talking with a cheery smile, "You had me add the blood before the thyme rather than after. That, combined with the man-eating slugs I had already added made it well, _boom!"_ She made a vague gesture with her hands, then shrugged, smiling sheepishly.

"You must've misheard me."

"Oh, love," Bridget began packing her bookbag, "I did precisely what you told me to. Time's up." She slung the bag over her shoulder and picked her way towards him. "And it's your turn to clean up. Have fun."

She patted his hair down, and straightened his tie before turning and walking out of the damaged classroom. Bridget ducked her head back in after a moment. "You might want to do something about your hair; you look like a blond Harry."

_"WHAT!"_

* * *

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Bridget pushed her way in front of Harry and smiled at Draco. "Don't worry about it, Harry."

"Precisely, it's none of your business, Potter. I'm here to talk to Griff—Bridget."

"What's with your hair?"

Draco's hand flew up to his hair, which was still sticking everywhere, making him look like a disgruntled hedgehog—a blond, disgruntled hedgehog. "At least it's only temporary."

Harry went for his wand, but stopped when Bridget patted his hand. "It was an accident during my Potions lesson."

"_He's _teaching you?" he asked, looking between her and Draco, who was smirking.

"Yup."

"That's actually what I wanted to speak to _you_ about," Draco said. He shot Harry a dirty look, but smiled at Bridget. "Snape asked me to tell you that you've completed your first year. Would—"

"Mr. Malfoy, if you would join your fellow Slytherins." Professor McGonagall frowned as she examined him over glasses. "What did you do to your hair?"

"Potions explosion," Bridget explained. "We've tried everything short of gelling it down, but that'd make him look peaky." She gestured at him. "I like to call it the Potter look."

"Indeed. Mr. Potter, you and Miss Griffins stand next to Mr. Weasley—the younger one, and Mr. Malfoy, come with me so I can get that hair taken care of."

"What about Potter's?"

McGonagall guided Draco away from them. "Don't worry about Mr. Potter, there's nothing I can do."

"Did—did McGonagall just—?"

Bridget patted Harry on the shoulder. "She means well."

"There you are," Ron said when they arrived and took their places between Ron and Ginny. "It's almost six." He frowned when he caught sight of Harry's face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Bridget replied for him. She attempted to peer over the six younger years in front of them, leaning on Harry's arm to get better leverage. "How d'you think they'll come? They can't Apparate onto school property and a Portkey wouldn't make much sense with a delegation."

"Can you hear something?" Ron asked.

"The lake!" Lee Jordan yelled, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!"

Bridget looked down from where the Hogwarts students were standing, at the top of the lawns, to the once smooth lake. There was a large rippling effect, more like waves, originating from the center. It began to bubble, and a whirlpool appeared, slowly getting larger and larger. Suddenly, from the middle of the whirlpool, a large pole appeared, then the rigging, and, finally an entire ship.

It glided to the shores of the lake, looking more like a ghost ship from an old movie than any sort of viable transportation. Once it reached port, what sounded like an anchor splashed into the water, and a plank was lowered.

The people disembarking from the ships were huge, built more like linebackers than normal humans, but as they came closer it became apparent that it was due to their heavy coats more than actual bulk. The man in the front was wearing different, lighter furs that matched the silver, sleek look of his hair.

"Dumbledore!" he called, his voice ringing out loudly over the otherwise silent lawns. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied.

He was tall and thin, with an oily, false quality to his voice that was only emphasized by the weak chin he had tried to cover with a white goatee and his slicked back, silver hair. When he finally reached Dumbledore, he shook his hands with both of his own.

"Dear old Hogwarts," he said, looking up at the castle. His lips were spread over crooked, yellowing teeth in something that was supposed to be a smile but didn't quite reach his eyes, which were cold and shrewd. "How good it is to be here, how good. . . . Viktor, come along, into the warmth. . . you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold. . . ."

Karkaroff turned and summoned one of his students. The boy passed by and Harry abruptly stumbled into her. He grabbed Bridget's shoulders to stop her from falling, and turned back to Ron.

"I _know _it's Krum," he muttered at the other boy, keeping an arm around Bridget after steadying her. "Now where's the other school?"

"There!" a Hufflepuff shouted, pointing at a shape in the sky. It was weaving towards them, cutting through the air like an eel through water, and as it got closer, it got more apparent exactly what it was.

"Is that a… train?"

"Oh!" Hermione gasped. "That makes sense. Queen Ka'iulani Academy modeled itself after Hogwarts; they just study Muggle subjects as well as magical."

"But there aren't any _tracks _in Hawaii," Bridget replied, "other than the sugar cane tracks and those can't support a train that big. Besides, they're only on the other side of the island."

"It's magic, Bridget. They don't _need _tracks."

"Right," she rolled her eyes, "because no one would notice a great, big, red train cruising through the islands."

Before Hermione could respond, the train stopped, hovering over the grass before touching down lightly. It was large and red with the school's name painted on the side in dark gold. Lights were flickering through the windows of the three cars, and, simultaneously, the doors opened.

About a dozen teenagers stumbled out, several still trying to figure out how to put on their cloaks. A young woman broke away from the crowd and, looking rather frazzled, made her way towards Dumbledore. She was very attractive with long, straight black hair, the big brown eyes that were common in Hawaii, and a curvy, athletic figure. If Bridget had been paying attention, she could already hear the appreciative murmurs of the male populace, but she was entirely too focused on the woman.

"Guinevere!" Dumbledore enthused, allowing the her to give him a kiss on the cheek. "It is a joy to see you again."

"Aloha, Kumu (1)," Guinevere responded in a light, airy voice. "Mahalo for allowing us to come."

"My pleasure. How is Lydia doing?"

"She regrets now being able to attend, but it is an accreditation year for us. I do hope I will do."

"Of course, of course. Shall we go inside?"

The Headmaster turned and gestured for Guinevere to go in first. She was followed by Karkaroff and his students, then the American students, who were huddled together in small groups, muttering to each other.

A member of one of the final groups caught sight of Bridget as he looked around and stopped walking, staring at her. She felt her stomach drop before jumping back up and lodging itself in her throat. This could not be happening to her.

One of the boy's friends turned and saw her before dragging him off after the others. Bridget continued to stand there, mouth open, trying not to hyperventilate as the Hogwarts students filed in last. It was slightly chaotic, with the teachers attempting to keep some order, and it took a few moments for her friends to notice her.

"Bridget, is something wrong?" Ginny asked, giving her a concerned look when she didn't respond to either Harry or Neville's calls.

Bridget turned to the other girl, eyes glistening slightly as she realized that one of the worst things possible had just happened, even if she wasn't quite sure why it was so terrible. The life she had lived before everything changed and her new life were about to collide for the second time, and it probably wasn't going to turn out well. "Gin, that was Ben."

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_So… there's the chapter. I have two announcements… (1) if anyone guesses which famous Hawaiian I named QKA's Headmistress (Lydia) after I'll dedicate my WRF one-shot to them, and (2) I just started a new fan-meets-character story. If you are interested, it's under my author's section. Please review if you've read the chapter. I have over 30 alerts, and I only get one or two reviews a chapter. It doesn't need to be insightful or anything… just getting a review makes me happy.

Special thanks to _**White Alchemist Taya **_for being my _only _reviewer, and thanks to _**Sparkles of Youthfulness, Flame-Eva, **_and _**sooo ella 14 **_for putting WRF on story alert; _**Queen of Monkey Magic **_for putting me on author alert; and _**Time Force Red, **_and _**sooo ella 14 **_for adding WRF to their favorites.

_**Next chapter: **__Bridget has a discussion with her Hawaii friends (short lived as it is), and we see the choosing of the Triwizard Champions. Will Bridget's involvement prevent a fourth champion from being chosen and who will represent Queen Ka'iulani Academy?_

**First Posted: **4/20/08

**Last Updated:** 6/29/08

(1) Kumu: Teacher, a sign of respect.


	13. Rather Awkward

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing that you recognize, only Bridget Griffins, the Harts, and other new things which I do own. The HP reference I used for this chapter is from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, _Chapters 16: "The Goblet of Fire," and 17: "The Four Champions," Pages 268- 286._

_**Author's Notes: **_I'm am _so sorry. _I've had this chapter written for, I don't know, about a month or so now, but this is the first chance I've had to post in about as long. I moved (unexpectedly) and we had _no internet. _I'm pretty sure it hurt me more than it hurt you. Then, right when we got internet back, I had to go to my over-night summer counselor job for a week. So, I apologize for the wait, and here's the chapter.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Rather Awkward

"_The real hero is always a hero by mistake…" –Umberto Eco_

Ginny frowned at her. "Who?"

"Benjamin," Bridget repeated faintly. She rubbed a hand over her face. "My friend from home."

Ginny gaped. "Your Benjamin is Benjamin _Hart?_"

She couldn't believe this was happening. What had she ever done that had deserved _this?_ It was hard enough having to deal with all the new stuff; Bridget didn't need to add her oddly-behaving friend to the mix.

"Yes," she responded. "And he's not _my _Benjamin."

"You grew up with the President's son?" Ginny asked, eyes wide with shock.

"That's what it looks like. He's my cousin's best friend." She smiled sheepishly at Ginny, who still seemed to be confused. "Did I forget to mention that?"

"Yes. You did."

Bridget pushed off the wall. A sudden thought had occurred to her: maybe she'd finally get some answers; all of the run-around was tiring. "Where's Harry?"

"What?" Now Ginny looked _really _confused.

"Harry," Bridget repeated. "He's met Gwen before, and Benji. He's going to be wondering where I am. Well, if he figures it out."

"The feast has already started, but we could probably—"

"Bridget?"

"Holy—Remus!" The voice had been familiar, but she must've been wired from the shock of seeing her old friend and had jumped.

"I'm sorry." Remus had his hands out in front of him, palms out and she realized that she must've still looked like a startled deer. Bridget forced herself to relax. "I didn't mean to scare you ," ("You didn't!") "and I didn't know he was coming." Her mouth dropped open. Remus wasn't normally so… abrupt. "I would've warned you."

"I know that, Remus," she responded. What had him so worked up?

* * *

Bridget clenched her fists; she was shaking, almost vibrating with the effort it took not to hit him. She pushed pass the boy and continued down the hall, wishing that she hadn't made up that lame excuse to get Ginny and Remus to leave her be.

"I'm sorry!" he shouted after her. She couldn't believe him. She just couldn't _believe_ that after every—"Bridget, I'm _sorry! _I—I didn't mean to—"

She spun back around, pushing him against the wall with surprising strength considering she was about half-a-foot shorter than he was. "You didn't mean _what?"_ Bridget hissed at him. She let her hand drop from where it was pressing against his chest and back away a few steps. He didn't move. "You didn't mean to hide things? To lie? To—to hurt me? Is that what you're trying to say, Benjamin?" She smiled bitterly. "That doesn't change the fact that you still _did it._"

"They—we were just trying to protect you."

"I am sick and _tired_ of people trying to _protect_ me. It's all been lies, half-truths, and omissions to keep me _safe_ and all it's done is hurt, Benjamin. I don't need your protection."

"Right." All the pleading was gone from his voice. He just sounded bitter. "That's because you have Patterson to keep you safe and sound."

"Nate has nothing—"

"You don't sound too upset at him," Ben continued angrily, "and he's been lying a lot longer than I have. _I_ didn't know you were like me."

"What—what are you talking about?"

"Your precious Na_than_iel knew exactly where you'd gone. Don't yell at me just because I'm convenient. I didn't know jack-shit about this until you went missing."

Bridget sank to the ground. She'd known it, really, somewhere in the back of her mind that he'd been keeping something from her for years. There were too many signs, too many small things that made sense now for it to be any other way.

"I'm sorry, Jet," Ben said softly, sounding at least slightly remorseful. "I really am."

She felt him pull her close. "I know, Benji."

* * *

When Harry finally came back 'round it was almost 2:30 in the morning. He sat up, and tore open his own curtains, scowling at the closed ones surrounding Ron's bed. It was true he had been getting a little anxious, but whatever conversation Bridget and Hart were having hadn't been going well. Still, _Ron _wasn't supposed to be the mature one.

He couldn't get back to sleep, so he went down to the Common Room with his still unfinished Transfiguration essay in hand. Harry stopped short. It was 3 in the morning; he hadn't expected a fire to still be burning. He also hadn't expected to see a girl sitting in front of that fire.

"Bridget?"

Her brown hair was glinting red and gold in the firelight, the waves falling over her shoulders and arms where they were holding her knees close to her chest. She looked up at him and blinked slowly, big brown eyes red-rimmed.

"Hey," she replied in a trembling voice.

Harry sat down next to her, surprised when she immediately curled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. She was shivering despite the blazing fire in front of them, and he wrapped an arm around her. They sat in silence until her breath evened out and he shifted to get more comfortable.

"Do you ever get tired of it?"

Harry looked down at her; he'd thought she was asleep. "Tired of what?"

"Of this whole _fate_ thing." She sounded exhausted. "Destiny. Of everyone thinking that they know best."

"I can't do anything about fate or destiny," he said after a few minutes. Although he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't thought about it, it was the first time anyone had actually asked him about it and Harry found his conclusions surprisingly difficult to say out loud. "And what everyone wants me to do, what I'm, uh, destined to do is what I _want _to do. I need to kill Voldemort and defeat the Death Eaters whether it's fate or not. I try not to let it bother me. So, sometimes."

Bridget made a small sound and cuddled closer, one arm drifting across his stomach as she pressed herself against him. Harry flushed bright red and stiffened, but she didn't seem to notice his reaction. He peered down. She was fast asleep, her breathing rhythmic and slow.

He stood up carefully, pausing when she refused to let go of his shirt. Harry leant back down, keeping one arm around her back as he slid the other under her knees. He picked her up gently and Bridget made a content sound, shifting slightly in his arms.

* * *

"Bridget?"

She curled up, pulling the blankets tighter around her and ignoring the voice.

"Come on, Bridget, it's time to get up."

She groaned and blinked her eyes open. It was a little fuzzy at first, and dark, but Bridget could still make him out. Wait, this wasn't her—

"Oh, God, I've done it again, haven't I?" She sat up. "I'm sorry, Harry, I keep falling asleep on you."

Harry flushed bright red. "That's, uh, okay."

"No, really," she continued, climbing out of the bed. "I fall asleep and end up waking up in your bed. It's— oh, God." She spun around, the same bright red color as Harry. "I can't believe I—I—how about we forget I said that?"

He nodded. "Agreed. Um, Ginny gave me some of your clothes." He handed her a uniform. "Dinner starts in half-an-hour. I'll wait for you downstairs."

She watched as he walked out of the room. When the door locked behind him she started, almost dropping the clothes. "Wait. _Dinner?_"

* * *

For a feast, dinner seemed to be incredibly long and boring. Bridget tapped her fork against the table impatiently. Despite the fact that she had slept all day, she was still exhausted and her appetite was gone; the most she'd been able to manage had been some rolls. She had also been forced to stop a confrontation between Harry and Benjamin, who was a lot more… determined than she remembered. She just really wanted this meal to end.

Bridget blinked. Her plate, although it didn't have much to start off with, was spotless. Blinking blearily, she put the fork down and looked up at Uncle Albus. He had stood up and was making his way to the front, where the Goblet stood.

"Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," he said. She tried to stifle the yawn that was rising in her chest. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of he Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber," he indicated the door behind the table—"where they will be receiving their first instructions."

Her eyelids finally won their battle and slid shut. The rest of her followed suit and she jerked back up after her head almost hit the table. What the—why was it so dark?

The lights had gone out, and the flames in the Goblet turned bright red, attracting her attention, as sparks flew out. A tongue of the unnaturally red flame shot into the air, bringing along with it a charred piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught the parchment as it fluttered down, reading it by the light of the Goblet's now blue-white flames.

"The champion for Durmstrang" he began, voice ringing in the tense, silent room, "is Viktor Krum."

Viktor rose from his place at the Slytherin table and followed the Headmaster's instructions. Bridget clapped along with everyone else, albeit rather less enthusiastically. The noise died down and everyone focused on the Goblet once again.

A second piece of parchment flew out of it; the Goblet had activated when she was distracted by Krum.

"The champion for Queen Ka'iulani Academy is," Uncle Albus said, peering over his glasses at the parchment, "Benjamin Hart."

Bridget stopped clapping a moment after she recognized the name, hands suspended mid-air as she watched him sheepishly take the praise from his classmates before following Krum's path. Her stomach dropped and she was glad, very glad, that she hadn't eaten much. Of all the people who had come, out of _everyone, _Ben had been chosen. _Ben._ Good heavens, was God out to give her a freakin' _heart attack_?

The table next to Gryffindor practically exploded with noise, startling her. She righted herself in time to see Cedric walk into the room. Harry gave her a concerned look, pushing an apple into her hand and putting an arm around her waist.

"Excellent!" Uncle Albus said once the noise died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Queen Ka'iulani and Durmstrang to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—"

Her breath caught in her throat and Bridget could feel her eyes begin to tear. She quickly blinked them away, gripping Harry's arm. He gave her another worried look, but she barely noticed. The goblet was red again and a fourth piece of parchment floated out of it. Uncle Albus stared at the parchment for a long time, made even longer by the horrible feeling that she wasn't going to like what it said.

He cleared his throat. "Harry Potter."

Utter silence. Bridget put the apple on the table, trying to force herself to loosen the grip her hand had on Harry's forearm. She had never heard the Great Hall so quiet.

"I didn't put my name in," Harry said, breaking the silence. He looked between Hermione and Ron. "You know I didn't."

"Harry Potter!" Uncle Albus called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"

* * *

"Harry, you have to go." Harry looked down at Bridget, just noticing that she had completely let go of him, even if his arm was probably going to be bruised in the morning. "I know it wasn't you. Go on." She gave him a little push.

Harry stood and walked between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, feeling every single person's eyes on him. It seemed to take forever to reach Dumbledore, and when he finally did the silence was deafening. He had grown during the summer and was about as tall as the Headmaster, but he had never felt so small.

"Well. . . through the door, Harry."

Harry continued down the teacher's table, avoiding everyone's eyes, and through the door into a small room. The faces in the portraits turned to look at him in unison, as if rehearsed.

The three champions were standing around the large fire at the far end of the room. They were silhouetted against the flames, looking mature and impressive in the light. Harry had never been more aware of a three year age difference.

Viktor Krum was hunched over, leaning on the mantelpiece as he stared into the flames. Cedric stood with his hand clasped behind his back. Neither boy hadn't noticed Harry enter. Hart, however, had. He had had his hands in his pockets and was leaning against the chair in front of the fire, facing Harry. His eyes opened when Harry shut the door.

"Yes?" he said. Harry couldn't tell if he recognized him or not. "Do they want us back outside?"

The door opened again behind Harry, almost hitting him in the back. Harry spun around and the other boys turned to look. Bridget stuck her head in, looking pale and thin in the firelight. Her face flushed red when she noticed everyone staring at her.

She scurried in, closing the door gently behind her and walked straight up to Harry, grabbing his hand with hers and pressing against his side. He instantly felt a little better. The pressing in his chest lightened and he felt less nauseous than he had all day.

"Bridget?" Hart said. He looked confused.

"Hello, Ben." She gave him a weak smile. "Uncle Albus sent me. I had a little mishap with a Binding Charm this afternoon. Poor Harry was stuck in the middle, or, I suppose, to me."

Harry stared down at her, shocked. She had a what?

"What?"

Bridget gave Hart a patient look. "A Binding Charm, Benji. I think it's rather self-explanatory."

How in the world did she come up with this? Had she even learned about Binding Charms? He'd just gone over them last year.

"With _him_?" Harry bristled. What was wrong with him? "Now?"

"Would you rather," her voice had taken on a sharp tone and she was glaring at him, "I had fainted, Benjamin?"

He took a step forward. "No, of course I don't—"

The door burst open and Bagman strode in. "Extraordinary!" He took Harry by his arm and led him forward, Harry pulling Bridget behind them. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen. May I introduce, incredible though it may seem—the _fourth _Triwizard champion?"

Krum straightened up completely, surveying Harry darkly and looking very large. Cedric looked between Bagman and Harry several times, seeming to be confused. Hart's mouth had dropped open.

"What?"

"Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"

Krum's eyebrows furrowed. Cedric still looked politely bewildered. Hart closed his mouth, frowning. He looked from Harry to Bridget, back to Harry before finally resting on Bagman.

"There has to have been some sort of mistake," he said. "Potter's too young!"

"Well… it is amazing," said Bagman. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name's come out of the Goblet… I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at the stage…. It's down in the rules, you're obliged… Harry will just have to do the best—"

The door opened again and several people came in. Professor Dumbledore, followed by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Professor Hart, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. Harry could hear the students in the Great Hall before Professor McGonagall shut the door.

"Gwen!" Hart said immediately. He strode over to his sister, towering over her. "Harry Potter's going to compete, too?"

"What's this about, Headmaster?" Gwen asked. The dreamy quality of her voice was gone. "I was under the impression each school was allowed one champion."

"I'd rather like to know the myself, Dumbledore," said Professor Karkaroff.

"Harry cannot be a champion," Gwen continued. "It's unfair to both us and him. He's not as experienced as the other boys."

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Miss Hart," Snape drawled. "Don't pity the boy. It's his own determination to break the rules that's gotten him into this unfortunate situation. He had been crossing lines ever since he arrived here—"

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said firmly. Snape fell silent.

Professor Dumbledore looked down at Harry. "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" he asked calmly.

"No," Harry said instantly. Snape made a disbelieving noise and Bridget glared at him. Strangely, the professor fell silent again.

"Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?"

"_No._"

* * *

It just went downhill from there.

"Bridget, may I speak with you for a moment?" Uncle Albus called. Bridget stopped herself from groaning just in time, but couldn't prevent herself from rolling her eyes. Luckily, only Harry could see it. "Harry may wait outside."

She reluctantly let go of Harry's hand and walked towards the Headmaster. The room seemed eerier now that everyone had left and, despite the roaring fire, Bridget felt rather chilled.

"Yes, Uncle?"

"Did Harry put his name in the Goblet?"

"No!" Geez, he didn't beat 'round the bush, did he? "He _said _he didn't."

"I thought not, but I wanted to be sure."

"Right," Bridget drawled, trying to remember that it wasn't respectful to cross her arms, "of course."

"I need you to look after him," Dumbledore said. "I know it's asking a lot, but it would be useful to have someone watching out for him, especially someone with your knowledge."

She gave him a level look, ignoring her own advice and crossing her arms across her chest. "I won't spy for you."

"I am not asking you to."

"Good, then," Bridget said. She turned towards the door. "We're in agreement. Good night, Uncle."

* * *

"Was that Cedric?"

"Yeah," Harry responded. "I don't think he believes me."

"Hm… I wouldn't be expect so," she said. He looked down at her in surprise. She smile and turned, walking towards Gryffindor Tower. "Most people aren't going to believe you didn't put your name in, at least not at first. But, that doesn't matter. I believe you and, eventually, your friends will, too."

Harry jogged to catch up with her. "Why won't they?"

"Because, Harry, they all want to be the Hogwarts champion. They'll either be jealous or just not understand why you wouldn't want it."

"I don't understand." And he didn't. Although, really, that could have something to do with her lacing her fingers through his and resting her head on his shoulder as they walked.

"They want to be you, Harry. They want what they _think _is your life. Which, of course, is a romanticized and idealized version of your life that probably includes a lot of hero-worship and hot girls." Harry thought it was best if he didn't mention that that sounded pretty accurate. "In reality, though, a lot of your life, well, sucks."

Harry stopped walking. That was pretty accurate, too. "Crap. It does."

"Don't worry, love," Bridget said, patting him on the arm. "It'll get better. Right now, though, you should brace yourself."

* * *

"What?" Harry asked.

Bridget ignored him, turning instead to the two women in the portrait.

"Well, well, well," said the Fat Lady, "Violet's just told me everything. Who's just been chosen as school champion, then?"

"Harry has," Bridget said, wanting to get through the door as soon as possible. "And Cedric. But that's no matter now. Balderdash."

The roar of noise that hit them as soon as the Fat Lady swung open was deafening and Bridget wondered, for the first time, if some wise witch or wizard in the past had put silencing or dampening spells on the Common Room. Gryffindors were known for being rowdy, after all.

Harry was pulled away from her, but, probably because of all the excitement, she couldn't have let go if she had wanted to and was pulled along with him. It was absolute insanity with seemingly every Gryffindor wanting to feed and/or congratulate Harry. Bridget could tell that Harry was getting rather fed up with how someone would waylay him every time he tried to go to his dorm, pulling him away from his destination.

Finally, she decided to take things into her own hands. She pulled Harry behind her, towards the boys' dormitory, and ignored several attempts to get both her and Harry's attention. When she got to the bottom of the steps, and the young, very determined Creevey brothers all but refused to get out of her way, Bridget decided that it was time to pull out her final defense. She was so totally going to regret this in the morning.

She smiled sweetly at the two boys in a way that had made others their age blush and stutter, and pulled Harry hard enough that he stumbled and used her to steady himself. "I want to congratulate Harry, too," she said in a mock-whisper. The others closest to the Creeveys, who had both turned bright red, stopped talking and were grinning, elbowing their friends to pay attention, too. Bridget tried to stop her blush before realizing that it could only help their situation. "In private, if you will." When they nodded earnestly, she let her timid smile brighten. "Thanks, boys."

Bridget ignored the stares she was getting, especially the open-mouthed ones from the twins, and turned around, leading Harry upstairs behind her. He tried to speak to her several times, but as she was blatantly ignoring him, Harry gave up soon after starting. They finally reached the seventh-year's dorm and Bridget stopped directly outside the door. She had a feeling that she didn't want to go inside the dorm. Not only would her reputation (as little of one as she had when spending all her time with Harry, Remus, Draco, or, the one most people forgot, Ginny) be horribly tarnished, but Ron was in there and he had a bit of a problem with jealousy.

She tried to leave. It didn't work.

Bridget frowned down at their joined hands. This was not good. Not at all. Even if everyone already thought they were going out, she really didn't want people thinking that they had slept together, too. There had to be something she could do.

"Mr. Weasley said that—," Harry began. Bridget held up a hand.

"Yes, I know. I'm trying to think and I'm really too tired to do several things at once. Like thinking and talking. Gimme a sec and I'll come up with something."

Ah hah! The Bond was there to help both of the bondees (Was that a word? Come to think of it, did it really matter?) through physical, mental, and emotional strain through a solid, hopefully productive relationship. This wasn't physical or mental distress, so the only thing that could help would be emotional comfort. A hug probably wouldn't do much—this was a lot to deal with—but there was something else that _might_ work. Maybe. If she was lucky. If not, then this was going to be rather awkward.

Harry seemed to notice that she had had an epiphany (it was difficult to not notice, she'd been told her entire face lit up and she looked all excited… it was embarrassing now that she thought about it) and gave her a concerned look. Before he could do anything, Bridget reached up and pulled him down, kissing him gently then releasing him.

Harry stood there, cheeks a shade of pink, in a slightly more comfortable position than the one Bridget had pulled him down to. With a triumphant smile, she released his hand and backed away. Apparently her theory had been accurate and the, um, kiss had provided enough emotional comfort to allow her to leave. Or it had shocked Harry enough that he forgot about everything else, which was distinctly possible as he still hadn't moved. She was pretty sure he hadn't blinked either.

"I needed to get the Bond to let us go," Bridget muttered, absent-mindedly untying the banner Lee had secured around Harry's shoulders and straightening his clothes. "It was the only thing I could think of, and it worked. I, um, I'm going to go now. I think you and Ron need to talk."

Without another word, Bridget opened the door and shoved Harry inside the room, hoping that she never had to deal with what she had just done. It was unlikely.

* * *

She was too tired to glare. Much too tired. Instead she passively waited for the two red-heads to finish bringing her wherever they were planning to bring her and put her down. It didn't take very long and Bridget soon found herself sitting on the chair in a far, unusually dark corner of the Common Room. She glared at Fred and George for a moment before leaning back into the chair.

"Yes?" she said. "What is it you want?"

"Do you know who put Harry's name in?" Fred (well, she thought he was Fred, but one could never be certain) asked.

"Nope," she replied. "No idea. Wait, how do you know that he didn't do it?"

They shrugged simultaneously and Bridget resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "He kept repeating that he didn't do it, and our Harry isn't prone to lying," George replied.

"Except to Snape," Fred added. George nodded an agreement.

"Oh, right. Well, I don't know who did it, but it wasn't Harry."

"And what was with that little act of yours? You did not go up there to _congratulate_ Harry."

"So you don't believe that rumor either?" Bridget asked, feeling rather relieved. "That's refreshing. Sometimes I think even Ron and Ginny believe it. I know Neville does at least a little."

"If Harry had gotten you we'd all know about it. He's never been very good at keeping secrets."

"Right. Well, I'm going to bed now, but I should probably warn you. I kissed Harry to deactivate the Bond, but that was it and that was the only reason. He might mention something to you two now that he and Ron are having a falling-out. You two are the closest things to big brothers that he has. G'night."

* * *

Bridget wasn't sure if she was amused by the shocked expressions she had left on the two Weasleys' faces or if she had said that just to get out of their as quickly as she could. She'd bet on the former. Either way, all she wanted to do right now was go to sleep and try to forget everything that had happened during the day.

She really should've known that it wasn't going to be that easy. Bridget sighed, rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of Ginny's bed.

"So," she said to Hermione, who was sitting primly on Bridget's bed, "what do _you _want?"

"Did you know this was going to happen?"

Bridget blinked. That was surprisingly straightforward. Then again, this was Hermione: the girl was a horrid liar.

"I remember that I was going to tell Uncle Albus something before he modified my memory," she responded. Honesty should be repaid with honesty. "But, I have no idea what I was going to say. This could be it." Bridget thought it was best if she didn't say that she believed this wasn't whatever had worried her so much.

Hermione gave her a searching look. "Very well. You don't happen to know _why _he would do something so idiotic, do you?"

"He _didn't._ If you thought about it for a second, Hermione, you would realize that thinking that Harry would is even more idiotic than him putting his own name in. Harry _hates _the limelight."

"Well," Hermione looked slightly startled and abashed. "Of course. But why would anyone else do so? It wouldn't be to anyone's benefit."

"Unless Harry gets killed," Bridget said softly, interrupting Hermione's train of thought. The other girl paled, eyes widening with the sudden implication. "The Tournament's killed other wizards, before now, and if no one suspects that it's a malicious attempt on Harry's life—that it's an accident, then it's all the better for them."

* * *

Bridget frowned, she was finally in bed, ready to sleep. It had taken over half-an-hour to get Hermione out of her room once she had mentioned the possibility that this was a lame attempt on Harry's life. (Okay, perhaps not so lame, but it was still annoying) Now she had finally finished her shower and was on her way to dream-land.

The door opened and Bridget tried not to groan. _Seriously?_ She shot up, glaring at the door-opener. It was Ginny, who had just as much of a right to be there as she did, but she still wasn't appeased. Ginny had turned to her, a determined look on her face, as soon as she'd seen that Bridget wasn't asleep. She sat down on her bed and took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for a—oh crap, not her, too.

"No, I don't know how Harry put his name in the Goblet, which would mainly be because he _didn't put it in. _I don't know who did and I don't know _why _this mysterious person did so. Now, have I answered your questions or do you still feel the inexplicable need to delay my sleep even longer?"

Ginny raised a single, thin, red eyebrow, lips twitching minutely. Bridget thought she might have made a mistake, but continued glaring just in case she was wrong about that as well.

"I never thought he did," Ginny said, amusement leaking into her voice like melting ice cream leaked out of a waffle cone. "I _was _going to ask you if he was all right, but I suppose that could wait until morning."

Bridget could feel the heat spreading up her neck and into her face. "Oh. He's fine, circumstances permitting." There was a short pause during which Ginny continued to look amused and Bridget continued to blush. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I've just had a lot of… questions."

"Understandable. Everyone seems to be under the impression that you did something definitely pleasure-inducing to Harry. Neville's too nervous to go upstairs."

"Oh, heavens, that boy needs to learn to trust me when I say that nothing's going on between me and Harry." Bridget rolled her eyes. "It's frustrating when one of your best friends doesn't believe you."

"He's just worried that Harry will turn him into something if he gets too close to you."

Bridget rolled her eyes again, which was the only honest response to the statement. Despite being at least five inches taller than Harry, and rather stouter, Neville was still terrified that the other Gryffindor would hurt him if he did something to her. She briefly wondered if this was a sign of trouble at home or if it was just a combination of justified terror of Snape, Slytherins, and Hermione and the rumors of Harry's supposed power and very real temper. She then decided that it didn't much matter.

"Yes, well, there's not much I can do to convince him otherwise," Bridget said finally. "Anything else?"

"Pleasure-inducing?" prompted Ginny.

"Oh, right. Nope, I was just trying to get both myself and Harry out of the Common Room. It was nuts." Bridget frowned. "Well, I suppose kissing him might have been somewhat pleasure-inducing, I've never had any complaints at least, but I did that to de-activate the Bond. G'night."

With a sharp grin, Bridget snapped her curtains shut and cast a silencing charm, ignoring Ginny's calls. She'd deal with that in the morning.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Well, then. That had a bit more romance than I had anticipated. I hope it wasn't too much for any of you, but don't worry: nothing more is going to happen for a bit. Sorry to any of you who want it to; this isn't really a romance fic. Um… please review, even if you're just saying good job or something. The next chapter's almost done, so, it'll be up by two weeks from now, sooner if I can get the chapter after that finished within the week.

Oh, yes, and if anyone was wondering... _You've Got to Be Kidding Me _will be posted either today or tomorrow.

Thanks to _**Karai Derou**_, and _**xavia**_ for putting me on Story Alert, and to _**xavia**_, _**akuma-chan0326**_, and _**White Alchemist Taya**_ for reviewing. I love my reviewers.

_**Next chapter: **__They see the consequences of having a fourth champion, both bad and, well, it's pretty much all bad at this point. Poor Harry._

**First Posted: **7/18/08

**Last Edited: **7/18/08


	14. Didn't Ask For It

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, I tell you, nothing! Except for, um, Bridget, and the others that you don't recognize, as well as the small amount of originality in the plot. What you do recognize comes from pages 289-301, Chapter 18, "Weighing of the Wands," from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire._ If you do not know who wrote that you should not be here.

_**Author's Notes: **_I am very, very late. It's not the latest I've been, but I am still very sorry. So, without further ado, I present…

* * *

Chapter 13: Didn't Ask For It

"_Never explain—your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway." –Elbert Hubbard_

Bridget yawned, stretching tiredly, and rolled out of bed. It was still early, only about an hour past dawn, and she wasn't quite awake, but she already knew that there was no way she would fall back asleep. She slipped on her clothing, almost tripped over something either nonexistent or invisible, and grabbed her backpack before heading downstairs.

Ginny and Harry could find her in the Great Hall when they eventually got up. She was hungry and a little restless. There was no way she was going to wait in the Common Room for what could be hours.

It didn't take very long for her to remember what had happened the night before, although it took longer than it really should have. When Bridget stepped out of the portrait hole, her stomach dropped, the corridor spinning around her. Everything rushed back in a flood of sounds and pictures and, with a sigh, she turned right back around to wait in the Common Room.

"Is the champion not up, yet?" a familiar voice asked bitterly. "Have a long night, did he?"

Bridget took a deep breath and looked up slowly, dreading what was about to happen. If was entirely too early and she was entirely too exhausted to deal with a jealous, upset, hurt Ron Weasley.

"No, I don't think Harry's up yet, if that's what you're asking," she said, maintaining her calm as best as she could so early. "You're his roommate." She just stopped herself from adding _dimwit, _although it was rather apparent in her tone.

Ron scowled down at her. "You didn't seem very surprised last night."

"Of course I was surprised," she snapped, feeling the marginal amount of pity she had for him trickle away into nothing. "_I _just trust him. God damn it, Ron, if Harry says that he didn't put his name in, he didn't!"

He snorted and the sound grated against her more than it usually would.

"You should trust him, too!" she finally shouted, dropping her backpack and gesturing widely. "He's your _best_ _friend_!"

"Well _he _should've trusted me enough to tell me when he put his name in."

Oh, for the love of—Bridget let out a huff of air, annoyed. "Are you even _listening _to be you close-minded, jealous idiot? He _didn't._ When has Harry _ever _wanted to be the center of attention?"

"He always is," Ron replied. The heat of his short temper was leaking into his voice a lot more than Bridget's was. "Maybe you'd be able to see that if you weren't snogging him."

Her mouth dropped open. She'd known that people thought that, but to have _Ron _of all…

"I am _not _snogging him," Bridget ground out. "Harry and I are just—"

"NO ONE BELIEVES THAT!" The words seemed unbearably loud in the empty common room. Her mouth snapped shut with shock. "Bonded couples are never _just friends,"_ he finished.

Somehow the silence was even louder than their shouting had been. Bridget felt frozen in place. No matter how much she wanted to turn away, she was stuck there by her stubborn refusal to let him win.

They were only about six inches away from each other; she had stepped closer during the argument. Both were breathing having and Ron's ears were bright red. If it had been a movie, this would normally be when they would start making out. Thankfully, they were neither in a movie nor attracted to each other. So, she just really wanted to hit him.

"Ronald!" as sharp voice called.

Ron and Bridget turned to see a slightly mussed Hermione standing at the bottom of the girls' staircase. She looked like she had gotten dressed in a rush and Bridget wondered if they had been louder than she had thought.

"Let's go to breakfast," she said. "Now."

There was a commanding tone to her voice that even Ron dared not cross. He muttered something, refusing to look Bridget in the face now that the moment was over, and left the room.

Hermione trudged up to her (well, as much of a trudge as the girl ever did—it was still pretty brisk). She looked tired. It seemed like she knew how much a Harry/Ron feud would take out of her and was dreading it.

"I'll wait for Harry," Bridget said. She was giving the other girl a safe out and they both knew it. "You go on with Ron; we'll be fine."

"He didn't mean it," Hermione said after a moment. She flinched when Bridget gave her a surprised, disbelieving look. "All right, maybe he did mean it, but he didn't mean to hurt you."

Bridget sighed. "Yes, I know. Inadequacy and jealous, and what-have-you. Just do me a favor." She smiled, sudden and bright. "Please bring us some toast. I don't think we should go to breakfast right now. It's a distinct possibility someone will get hurt."

"Harry would never…"

Her smiled turned sharp, "He might not, and, admit it, the guy has some anger issues, but I definitely would."

* * *

Harry woke up feeling miserable and he couldn't remember why. Then he got up, saw that Ron's bed was empty before eight on a non-Quidditch Saturday, and remembered.

Sometimes he really hated his life.

He got dressed and went down the staircase, hoping that it was still early enough that there wouldn't be too many people there. Surprisingly, considering his recent luck, there wasn't really anyone there. He would've thought it was empty if it hadn't been for the girl fast asleep on the couch.

As if she noticed his attention, she turned over, towards him, and rolled right off. Harry rushed over, reaching her only in time to help her up.

"Are you okay?"

"Harry?" Bridget blinked up at him, looking confused. "I was, um, waiting for you. Must've dozed off. Stupid couch." Without seeming to realize what she was doing, she leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder. "M' tired," she muttered before yawning widely and cuddling closer.

"You know," an amused voice said from the portrait hole, "this is why people think you're dating."

He groaned. Merlin, Hermione had terrible timing.

* * *

Bridget knew that she should fell embarrassed, or at least a little self-conscious about holding hands with Harry as they walked around the lake, but she honestly couldn't be bothered. There were more important things than school gossip or overactive hormones. And she was honestly just too worn out to be stubborn.

"Have you seen Ron?" Harry asked, interrupting whatever tired Hermione had been on.

Bridget stiffened before moving closer to Harry, refusing to answer. Hermione hesitated before she said, "Erm… yes… he was at breakfast."

"Does he still think I entered myself?" said Harry. His green eyes were hard and he had cut the sentence into short, sharp syllables.

"Well… no," Hermione started pulling at her curls nervously, "I don't think so… not _really._"

His voice dropped so low it was almost a growl, "What's that supposed to mean, 'not _really_'?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she said. She shot Bridget a desperate look, and she decided to oblige.

"Well, Harry," Bridget said, "he's jealous."

"_Jealous?" _he said, looking incredulously between the two girls. "Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?"

Bridget sighed. "You're not going to make a prat of yourself. I'm sure you'll do fine."

"Look," Hermione said to him, voice full of patient understanding, "it's always you who gets all the attention, you know it is."

"Not that you wanted it," Bridget interrupted, seeing Harry open his mouth furiously. "But you know it's true."

"We know you don't ask for it," Hermione said pleadingly, "but—well—you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous—and he's always been shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many…."

"Great," said Harry bitterly. "Really great. Tell him from me I'll swap any time he wants. Tell him from me he's welcome to it…. People gawping at my forehead everywhere I go…"

This wasn't going well. Harry's voice was getting louder and she was a little afraid that he was going to start crying or shouting, which would really freak her out.

"I'm not telling him anything," Hermione said. She really wasn't helping the situation any. "Tell him yourself. It's the only way to sort this out."

Bridget took one look at Harry's face. That so wasn't going to happen. Well, st least he didn't look like he was going to burst into tears anymore.

"I'm not running around after him trying to make him grow up!" he shouted.

"Okay." Bridget stepped between him and Hermione. "I think that's enough. We're all very—"

Harry didn't seem to agree. "Maybe," he shouted at Hermione over Bridget's head, "he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken or I—"

He broke off mid-sentence and there was a moment of barely disguised horror on his face before he looked away. Bridget felt nauseous at the thought and was staring up at him with her hands still in front of her, frozen where she had had them raised, trying to calm them down. Poor Hermione looked even more high strung than she had before.

"That's not funny," she said in a quiet voice. "That's not funny at all." She took a deep breath, stealing herself up for whatever she was about to tell him. "Harry, I've been thinking—you know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?"

"Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the—"

"_Write to Sirius."_

Harry scowled. "Come off it. He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He'll probably come bursting right into the castle—"

"Harry," Bridget said in a small voice. The thought of him hurt because of the Tournament had made her blood run cold. "Listen to Hermione. I mean, he'll find out anyways, because of the Prophet, and well, it's you so it'd be best if you wrote to him. Tell him before he finds out himself."

He seemed to realize that if both she and Hermione agreed on this (a rare event during their short acquaintance) then it was probably best. And he definitely wasn't going to win any argument.

"Okay."

He threw the last of his toast to the giant squid and took Bridget's hand again. She stopped walking halfway to the castle, frowning. Draco had just emerged from the front door, determination in his stride, and was making his way straight towards them. It was time for some quick thinking.

"Um, Harry?" she said. "Tell Sirius I said 'hi' when you write."

"But, you don't know him."

"Yes, and you're point?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, having caught the archness in her tone and wisely choosing not to question it. "Wait, aren't you coming?"

"No." Her voice got softer as she realized that this might very well come to blows. "I need to talk to Draco."

"_Malfoy?_"

She looked desperately between Harry and Hermione. He looked absolutely furious, and Hermione didn't look very happy either. Bridget hoped she could get this all over with before Draco reached them.

"Oh, Harry, don't be like that. Draco's tutoring me and he's kind in his own strange, odd way."

"He's a Slytherin."

Oh for the love of God. "Yes, Harry. That means that he's clever enough not to kill me when you were the last to see us together. Now, please—"

"Bridget Ashlyne, if you have a moment?"

Crap. "Draco—"

"No, Malfoy, she does _not _have a moment."

"I don't believe I asked you, Potter."

Draco spat the name like it was a curse word, one that even _he _found distasteful, and Bridget saw both boys' hands wander to their pockets. She decided that this had gone far enough, thank you very much, and stepped between them.

"Okay, boys, let's stop this now." Hopefully they'd at least pause before hexing each other if she was between them. She chanced a look at their faces. Maybe. "Harry, go with Hermione to finish your letter. Draco and I have to talk." Harry opened his mouth and she fixed him with a stern glare. "Go. I'll see you for lunch."

Harry sighed and stormed off to the castle. Hermione gave Bridget a desperate look.

"She'll be fine, Granger," said Draco blandly. "I wouldn't want to incur your intelligent but unfortunately Gryffindor wrath."

"Ignore him." Bridget glared at him briefly and he smiled back. "I'll be fine, Hermione."

Hermione gave Draco a stern, pointed look. "I'm sure you will be."

With those parting words of encouragement, she caught up with Harry. Once she managed it, Bridget turned back to Draco. He looked rather amused.

"Okay, what is it?"

"I'm offended that she doesn't trust me."

"It would be an insult to her intelligence if she pretended that she did." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You said you needed to talk with me. But, before we continue I have one thing to ask you."

"Only one?" he drawled, raising a single eyebrow as he looked down at her imperiously. She rolled her eyes. "How novel."

"You, sweetheart, are starting to sound like Snape." He scowled at her. "Yes, only one thing. Do you believe Harry put his name in the Goblet?"

"Potter? Fuck, no."

"Language, Draco."

"Yes, darling." He gave her another crooked smile. "Of course I don't believe Potter entered himself. He may be an egomaniac, but he doesn't need to go looking for fame: the population's stupid enough to fawn over him all on their own. Besides, he's not nearly clever enough to pull a stunt like that without your or Granger's help. Granger wouldn't break school rules for something unworthy of sainthood and you would have told me."

It was Bridget's turn to look amused. She raised an eyebrow in question and she could feel her lips curving into a smile despite her best attempts to stop herself. "I would, would I?"

"Of course. You admire me too much to even think of doing anything else."

"Right… did I ever mention I took a picture of your Potter hairdo?"

Draco grinned proudly. "That's positively devious," he said. "I find the blackness of your soul captivating and wonder how you managed to get Sorted with those incompetent, self-righteous idiots. You have Slytherin written all over you."

Bridget finally smiled completely. After a few weeks of tutoring, Greg and Vincent had joined them, then Pansy and Daphne. Draco had relaxed considerably and declared several times that the Sorting Hat had been wrong about her and should be burned.

He threw an arm around her shoulders and made to pick her up. She dodged out of his reach.

"Stop that now, Draco."

He sighed dramatically. "You're right, my sweet, we can't be seen. Our love is beautiful, but misunderstood."

And he was the most melodramatic person she had ever met, boy or girl.

"You just like upsetting Harry."

"Perhaps." Draco grinned. "But I'm not going to be the only one now."

* * *

Draco had, unfortunately, been very, very right. Ron still wasn't talking to Harry, and Harry was, in turn, refusing to even look at Ron. The Hufflepuffs, who never got much glory in, well, ever, were angry that Harry had stolen the limelight from Cedric. The Ravenclaws seemed to think Harry had some complicated psychological-emotional problem that basically meant he needed attention because he was an orphan and/or the Boy-Who-Lived. And the Slytherins, well, they were enjoying how Harry was no longer the Golden Boy of Hogwarts.

Big surprise there.

The stressfulness of the week was only augmented by the fact that Bridget spent most of her time trying desperately to remember why Harry had been entered and who had done it (oddly enough, she'd only been able to think of Dr. Who, which made no sense unless the culprit was a Time Lord). It had one, very unfortunate, side effect: the Bond had been activated in full force. She had spent most of the week tagging along to Harry's classes, and the only rest she'd gotten had been from night spent in the Common Room or in the boys' dormitory, with Harry.

It was really starting to annoy her. And, as if that wasn't enough trouble, she had spent the past 20 minutes dodging stray desks in Flitwick's classroom. Harry collapsed in the seat next to her, burying his head in his arms.

"I'm terrible," he said.

"No you're not," Bridget murmured reassuringly, despite how he really was quite bad. "You just… aren't very good."

Harry groaned. Maybe she should have been more tactful about it. "I mean, well—I have an idea."

She stood up and grabbed both backpacks before heading towards their professor, pulling Harry behind her. They reached him after a few minutes of dodging heavy objects. Flitwick, gave Harry a wary look: he'd almost been hit by one of Harry's mistake.

"May I help you, Miss Griffins?"

"Yes, Professor. Do you think you could give Harry leave to come to my lesson? Remus could help him work through whatever's bothering him with the Summoning Charm and, as much of a help as sitting in on your class has been, I'm not quite up to this level."

Flitwick looked between her and Harry and sighed. "Very well, Potter, you may go."

At least they'd have a break before Potions.

* * *

Double Potions, Bridget had learned, was barely short of torture. Last week Harry and Hermione had sat next to each other, with Hermione muttering some sort of calming mantra the entire time. It probably hadn't helped that Snape had had Bridget sit with Draco the entire period.

But when the three of them made their way down to the dungeons after lunch, Bridget got the feeling that this one was going to be a lot worse than the last time. Each and every Slytherin waiting for class to begin were wearing badges that, in bright, glowing letters, said:

Support CEDRIC DIGGORY—

The REAL Hogwarts Champion!

"Oh my God," she groaned, eyes wide.

"Like them, Potter?" Draco said loudly. "And this isn't all they do—look!"

He pushed the button and the words disappeared. They were replaced by glowing green letters that, imaginatively, read:

POTTER STINKS

Bridget felt her heart sink. She had _thought_ that Draco had a brain, but it apparently disappeared when Harry was involved. No wonder half the fandom thought the had a thing for each other.

"Oh _very _funny," said Hermione, voice thick with sarcasm, "really _witty._"

Draco held out a badge to her, grinning viciously. "Want one, Granger? I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up."

"_Draco!"_ Bridget stepped forward to tell him off, but was pulled back at the last minute. She turned, intent on giving Hermione a piece of her mind, only to see that it was Ron holding her back.

"You don't want to get between Harry and Malfoy," was all he said by way of explanation. He nodded towards the pair.

"Go on, then, Potter," Draco said, drawing his wand. "Moody's not here to look after you now—do it, if you've got the guts—"

Then, at the same time,

"_Furnuculus!"_

_"Densaugeo!"_

The jets of light shot out of their wands and bounced off each other mid-air. Harry's hit Greg in the face and he begun sprouting painful looking boils. Draco's, however, hit Hermione. She fell to the floor, covering her mouth and whimpering.

"Hermione!"

Ron rushed to her and Bridget found herself in front of Draco before she realized what was going on. Without saying a word she pulled her arm back and slapped him, shaking with fury.

Then she, in a level, calm voice the proved just how angry she was, said, "I'll see you _only _for lessons. I want nothing else to do with you."

"And what is all this noise about?"

Bridget spun around. Snape was behind her. He pointed a long finger at Draco and said, "Explain."

"Potter attacked me, sir—"

"We attacked each other at the same time!" shouted Harry.

"—and he hit Goyle—look—"

Snape took one, long look at Goyle, and said, "Hospital wing, Goyle."

"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron said. "_Look!_"

Ron pried her hands away from her face and Bridget could see that the teeth had grown down to her collar. Snape, however, wasn't moved.

"I see no difference."

Hermione whimpered, eyes filing with tears of embarrassment. She spun around and fled, leaving her bookbag behind for, perhaps, the first time in her life. Bridget bent down and had just swung it onto her back with the corridor burst into noise. Simultaneously, Ron and Harry had started shouting at Snape, both red with anger.

"Let's see," Snape said with an inhumanly pleased glint in his eyes once the noise had stopped. There was no way he had understood what either boy had said, but it was also impossible to think it was complimentary. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detention."

Harry pushed pass Snape with Ron and Bridget following him. He slammed his bag on the desk. Ron paused and it briefly looked like all was normal between the two boys. Then Ron continued to a seat with Dean and Seamus. Bridget sat next to Harry, in Hermione's usual seat.

"Miss Griffins," Snape said, "Why are you in the wrong seat?"

Bridget gave him a level look. She wasn't sure if her anger was entirely her own, but it didn't matter.

"If I have to sit next to Draco for a double period I may give into my desire to slam my cauldron on his obnoxious yellow head and I don't want to harm a fellow student." She paused. "Also, I can't."

Actually, Bridget was positive she could last the class on the opposite end of the room, but Snape didn't know that and she wasn't about to tell him. Besides, she really was likely to hit Draco.

Snape scowled. He couldn't knowingly cause a Bond disruption without reprimand and he knew it. "Five points from Gryffindor for threatening another student." He looked away. "Antidotes!" he said, now sounding very pleased in his special greasy way. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one…"

He smirked, letting his eyes rest on Harry.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Well, there it is. I'm sorry it took so long for me to update. Hopefully, the next one won't be nearly as long of a wait; I am halfway down with it anyhow.

Thanks to _**Love is the key to the world,**_ and _**shoveitupYOURass **_for putting this on story alert; _**shoveitupYOURass **_for putting it on favorites; and, finally, thanks to _**shoveitupYOURass **_for reviewing.

_**Next chapter: **__The Weighing of the Wands and we visit poor Hermione in the Hospital Wing. Skeeter's article is released and we see how Bridget changes her perspective._


	15. Out of the Closet

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything from the Harry Potter franchise. So, everything other than my original characters, original plot, and original writing belongs to J.K. Rowling and her minions. Yes, minions. Anyone as awesome as J.K.R. _has _to have minions. Recognized dialogue comes from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, _Chapter 18: "The Weighing of the Wands," pages 302-312._

_**Author's Notes: **_I am so sorry I took so long to update. Multiple reasons why that I won't go into, but I do have a schedule to have the story done by the end of summer. Updates should be much, _much _more regular now.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Out of the Closet

_"The true word leads; the untrue misleads." -Frank Kafka_

Bridget frowned and scooped her bag up, quietly following Harry and the Creevy kid-- Colin?-- out of Snape's classroom. She was pretty sure if she asked for permission, too, the Potions professor would explode. Admittedly, it would be terribly amusing, but rather ineffective in the long run. Besides, it technically wasn't even her Potions period; she could leave at will. In theory.

"It's amazing, isn't it, Harry?" Colin said as soon as she closed the door behind her. The boy was staring up at Harry, eyes wide with adoration. "Isn't it, though? You being champion?"

"Yeah, really amazing." Harry sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. When they reached the stairs he asked, "What do they want photos for, Colin?"

"_The Daily Prophet, _I think!"

"Great," said Harry. His voice was heavy and tired. "Exactly what I need. More publicity."

Colin deflated at Harry's tone. He wasn't frowning yet, but he was definitely less bouncy. Bridget decided to take pity on the poor kid.

"Are you excited about the Tournament?"

Harry gave her a hard look, eyebrows furrowing over his ridiculously large glasses. She ignored him; it was the only thing she could think to ask him.

"Oh, yes," Colin squeaked, regaining his bounce. "It's supposed to be very exciting. I'm sure Harry will win, of course."

"Of course." Bridget couldn't help smiling. It was refreshing to have someone so confident and optimistic around; everyone else was worried out of their minds.

They'd reach the room. Bridget and Harry regarded the door with trepidation; Colin smiled. "Good luck, Harry."

Well, Harry was going to need it; they both probably would. Bridget slipped her hand in his.

* * *

For some reason, when Harry had considered the idea of being stuck in a broom closet with Bridget (Seamus's fault, it was all Seamus's fault), it had not included being grilled about the Triwizard Tournament. It also hadn't included a woman reporter with very... manly features. Overall, the experience was a little awkward.

"How do you feel about the tasks ahead?" the reporter asked, cutting him off mid-sentence again. "Excited? Nervous?"

He hated reporters, that's how he felt. "I haven't really thought... um, yeah, nervous, I suppose."

Skeeter turned her gaze to Bridget, smiling sharply, and the girl recoiled almost imperceptibly. She seemed a little disgusted by the whole situation. "Bridget-- you don't mind if I call you that, do you?" From the look she was giving Skeeter, Harry would guess that she did mind, very much so, but Skeeter didn't seem to care. "Bridget, I understand that you and Harry are quite close?"

"Yes," she replied slowly as she gave Skeeter a suspicious glare. "I suppose. We're fri--"

"How do _you _feel about Harry's entry in the Triwizard Tournament? Upset? Frightened?"

Bridget frowned, her hand tightening uncomfortably on his knee. Harry tried not to fidget. "I'm confident in his ability to perform the tasks well." She tilted her head curiously. "Aren't you interviewing _Harry?"_

"Of course," Skeeter said with a simpering smile that had Bridget bristling. "Just wanted an outside perspective." She turned her attention back to him. "Harry, do you remember your parents?"

"No," he said shortly.

"How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament. Proud? Worried? Angry?

_Seriously_. How the hell was he supposed to _know _that? He glanced at Bridget, avoiding the question as he followed her gaze down to Skeeter's parchment, which she was frowning at quite pointedly.

_Tears fill those startling green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember. He takes a bracing breath, finding comfort--_

"I have NOT got tears in my eyes!" he shouted, springing to his feet. Bridget grabbed his arm and firmly pulled him back down to the bucket he'd been sitting on, effectively preventing him from storming out of the room... well, closet. Before the joke of an interview could continue, the door opened, flooding the room with light as Dumbledore stared down at them.

_"Dumbledore!" _Skeeter said delightedly. She stood, snapping her bag shut and extending one of her large hands to the Headmaster. "How are you? I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"

"Enchantingly nasty," Dumbledore replied, sounding more amused than anything. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."

"I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that--"

"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," Dumbledore bowed courteously, smiling, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom closet."

Without another word, Skeeter strode pass Dumbledore and out of the closet.

"Thank Merlin," Bridget muttered to Harry as he put an arm around her shoulders. She levelled at dark look at Skeeter's back. "That woman's an embarrassment to legit journalism."

"Oh, and Harry, Bridget," Dumbledore said just loud enough for Skeeter to hear, "I spoke with Professor Flitwick and he believes the spell will wear off in a few hours."

The... what? Bridget nodded, smiling at the Headmaster. "Okay. Thanks." She gave him a pointed look. "Cover story, Harry."

* * *

Bridget sat in the corner, watching the proceedings as unobtrusively as she could. It really wasn't very much fun. For one thing, Rita Skeeter kept glancing over-- Bridget could _see _the gears turning behind her horn-rimmed glasses-- the woman had found herself a story, and Bridget was pretty sure she wasn't going to like it.

Great.

She settled herself more comfortably against the wall, resisting the urge to draw her knees up to her chest. Bridget mentally began listing the homework she still had to finish for the week. She was outlining a Transfiguration essay that promised to be a challenge when she was interrupted.

"Jet, can we talk?"

Bridget gave Ben a weary smile. He seemed penitent enough, shoulders drooping with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Good heavens, he was even scuffing his shoe; he looked like a five year old caught filching cookies. "I suppose."

* * *

Harry escaped from Skeeter's clutches as soon as he could politely manage it (he'd briefly considered-- and decided not to-- just leave her mid-sentence). Bridget had gotten paler and paler as the Weighing of the Wands had progressed, and by the time they were finished with photos, she had retreated to a far corner of the room, looking very much like she did not want to be there. Then Harte went over and started talking to her. It didn't look like it was helping the situation.

Once he'd reached her, she gave him a painfully grateful look. "Harry."

He resisted the urge to wrap a protective arm around her waist, instead standing close enough for her to instinctively lean against him. He glared at Harte, and the older boy glared back. "Hi Bridget."

"I have to talk to Gwen," Harte said to Bridget, completely ignoring him. "I'll see you later?"

She nodded shortly, and Harry watched as Harte's entire posture relaxed, apparently relieved that she wasn't still angry at him-- which Harry didn't understand. "Yeah. Bye."

He made a move towards her, something that looked so habitual Harte must've done it often, but seemed to think better of it this time, hesitating before he finally turned away, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Harry recognized the gesture; Harte was trying to keep himself from doing something he thought was stupid. When he was on the other side of the room, Bridget's shoulders relaxed.

Bridget looked up at him with big, worried eyes. She was shaking. "Can we go now?"

"Yeah." Harry took their textbooks out of her death grip and as soon as he'd stuffed them into his backpack, she attached herself to his side, burying her face in his shoulder much like she'd done the first night he'd met her. Now he could feel her trembling.

He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and bent down. "Come on, it'll be okay."

Bridget jerked back, looking close to tears. "Don't say that," she whispered fervently. "You're in the Tournament and Ben's in the Tournament and-- and-- you could get hurt, Harry. You could _die." _She took in a shaky breath. "And I have this horrible feeling, like something dreadful's going to happen, like everything's really _not _going to be okay."

Harry pulled her against his chest again. "Don't worry. Everything'll be _fine._"

* * *

By dinnertime Bridget was feeling a little less jumpy and much less dramatic. She was enthusiastically explaining her current History project to Harry, entirely aware that he wasn't listening to a word she said. She stopped mid-gesture when she spotted Ginny at the entrance to the Great Hall; she did _not _look happy.

"Oh no," Bridget muttered. She rushed up to the other girl. "Is something wrong?"

"Is something _wrong?"_ Ginny repeated incredulously. "Yes! Ron's an arse, that's what's wrong."

Bridget eyed her warily. She didn't know what to say to that. After all, she had brothers, too; it was... trying, at best.

"He can't stop talking about _Harry," _she continued spiritedly. "Merlin's beard, he sounds like a jilted girlfriend!" Ginny stopped speaking, breathing somewhat heavily from her rant, and eyed Harry. The suspicion was clear in her narrowed brown eyes and down-turned mouth. "_He's _not like that, is he?"

"Nope. Harry's ignoring Ron's existence." Bridget shrugged. "It's not bad."

Ginny nodded, satisfied. "Good. Let's eat."

"Sure."

Without waiting for an answer, Ginny looped her arm with Bridget's and led her into the Hall, Harry trailing despondently behind them. He sighed. "Do I get a say in this?" he asked.

Bridget grinned at him, pulling the boy in step with them. "Nope. You _could _sit with Ron, I guess."

He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side and Bridget felt herself relax into it. No _wonder _everyone thought they were dating. She pulled away when they sat down, piling a decent-- if a bit small-- amount of food on her plate, and making sure Harry took some vegetables for himself.

"May I ask why you didn't just eat with Neville?" she asked wryly.

Ginny sniffed, and her chin jerked up defensively. "He had to be sacrificed for the greater good."

"The greater...?" Bridget sighed, shoulders dropping as she gave her friend a fondly exasperated look. "Ginevra, you _didn't."_

There was no reason to wait for an answer, so Bridget leaned over, looking further down the table where Ron's voice could be heard. Surely enough, Neville was sitting across from the youngest Weasley boy, picking at his food and looking decidedly glum.

"I," Ginny said in a stiff voice, "did what needed to be done."

"Oh, _Ginny. _That's downright cruel." Bridget frowned disapprovingly. "You know he has problems saying 'no.'"

"I know. That's why I asked him." It was then that Ginny realized the obvious. "Where's Hermione?" she asked, frowning.

"Got caught in the crossfire in Potions," Bridget replied with a sigh. "I'm surprised you hadn't heard of it yet-- quite the story. She's probably still in the Hospital Wing."

"Harry and Malfoy's duels are legendary." Both girls ignored Harry as he choked on his pumpkin juice. "Most people don't bother to give details on collateral damage."

Bridget tapped her fork against the table. "Huh. I'd think they'd be common-place by now. I mean--"

"Wait," Harry interrupted in a low, somewhat raspy voice, having finally rid his lungs of the accidentally inhaled juice. "People _talk _about me?"

Both girls stared at him. He was actually _asking _if people talked about him. Of all the obvious... it took Bridget another moment to process. "Um... Harry, think about what you just asked me."

He almost visibly deflated, his intense gaze dropping to his plate. "Oh."

"It's okay."

"Well," Ginny said, "I'm going to see her before curfew then."

Bridget turned to Harry. "When were you planning on visiting her?" After all, Harry was closer to Hermione than Bridget probably ever would be; it would make more sense if she just tagged along with him.

"Um..." He blinked at his plate. It made him look like a bewildered owl. "I... didn't think of that."

"You... _what_?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I, um, wasn't planning on it."

"_Harry,_" she sighed. Bridget stood, pulling Harry along with her. "Come on. We'll go with Gin."

"But--"

Bridget ignored him. "We're going. She's _your _friend."

* * *

It was the first time in _ages _she felt secure enough to sleep in her own bed, and that made Bridget feel wonderful. For once, she didn't have to worry about sneaking around or the awkwardness of sharing a bed with a boy she wasn't even dating, let alone--

"You seem to be in quite the pickle, Jet."

Bridget froze. Right... so maybe there were perks to staying with Harry. He didn't have a tendency to ask awkward questions; they seemed to make him just as uncomfortable. Ginny, however, had no qualms with it.

"Huh?"

"Three boys," Ginny replied cheerily. "You have _three boys _fancying you."

Bridget blinked, trying to process the information. "I-- what? Dude, I don't know what you're talking about."

Ginny held up three fingers. "That Nate fellow. Benjamin Harte. Harry Potter."

"Don't be ridiculous." Bridget turned away, quickly changing into her pajamas as she tried not to blush. Harry? Really? And she'd known Ben since she was four. "No one fancies me, especially not Nate."

"Everyone fancies you, Jet." Ginny rolled her eyes. "You're new and connected to _Harry, _but that's beside the point. Nate obviously cares if he sent Xavier to check on you. Harte and Harry have practically been dueling over you. Don't be thick."

Bridget stiffened." I don't see it," she said flatly.

"That's because you're being more stubborn than Hermione is with Ron, and that's saying something."

Ginny arched an eyebrow, arms crossed over her chest as she gave her friend an ironic look. Finally, Bridget sighed, letting her shoulders drop. She leaned heavily against the bed. "I'm too tired to deal with any of this, you know."

She smiled in a way that made Bridget want to smack her with a pillow upside the head. "You mean choosing between Harry Potter and Nate... um... Nate what? It's ruining the poetic flow of my arguments."

"What poetic...? Nevermind. It's Wilde. Nathaniel Wilde."

"Really?" For the first time since the conversation had started, Ginny looked surprised. "Is he Muggleborn?"

"Ginny," Bridget sat heavily on her bed, pulling the covers down. "How in the world am I supposed to know? I don't even know if _I'm _Muggleborn."

"Right. Well, you don't have to worry about it now. Wilde's note here and Harry's as oblivious as ever. You're still so upset with Harte that he'd be lucky to get you to talk to him. I just thought I'd bring it to your attention."

Ginny smiled brightly, darkening Bridget's own mood even more. "Gee, thanks."

"Not a problem."

Bridget swung her legs onto the bed and drew the curtains shut around her. She hoped, rather futilely, that things would level off for a while, give her a chance to recover from the multiple shocks.

Ha. Like that was going to happen.

* * *

"What's going on?"

The furtive whispers stopped abruptly and three pairs of eyes fixed on Bridget. She peered suspiciously at Hermione, Ginny, and Neville, just managing to catch Neville hurriedly handing something over to Ginny. They stared innocently back.

"What. Is. Going. On?" she repeated archly, sensing that they were hiding something. It was a little obvious, to be honest.

"Nothing," Ginny and Hermione chirped in unison.

"You two are so lying." And they wouldn't crack, either. They were too good at it. However... Bridget turned her gaze to the third person. "Neville, tell me what's going on."

"Nothing," he squeaked.

"_Neville._" Her tone was bordering on dangerous and he recognized that fact, slowly cracking as she watched.

"Bridget!" She turned to see Colin Creevy bouncing up to her, waving a newspaper. The younger student had taken her polite conversation before the Weighing of the Wands to heart and seemed enamored with her. "You're in the Prophet!"

"Am I?" she drawled, shooting a wry look at her friends, who were all glaring at Creevy-- well, except for Neville, who looked terribly relieved. Bridget took the offered paper. "Thanks, Colin. I'll make sure you get this back."

It was as clear of a dismissal as she could manage without being rude. Luckily, Colin seemed to get the message and left Bridget to her own devices. Quickly, she skimmed the article.

"Oh. My. God," she muttered to herself, eyes widening.

Bridget sank onto a nearby chair. The impact of the words had just started to sink in when she reached the end and began to re-read it more carefully.

_Harry has recently been seen in the company of Bridget Griffins, a fellow Gryffindor and great niece to Headmaster Dumbledore. A close friend to Harry, Colin Creevy, says that the two have been nearly inseparable since Bridget began attending Hogwarts. This reporter has even had the opportunity to see the couple together, and can write that they seem to be in the happy throes of young love. One can only hope that it will last through these trying times, but Bridget seems supportive and Harry besotted._

And there was a _picture. _From the Weighing of the Wands. Harry was bent low, whispering something to her. He had one hand at the base of her neck and the other arm was wrapped around her shoulders. For her part, she was leaning into him, her hands clenched, barely visible, in his shirt and her face buried against his neck. Then she pulled back-- God, she looked scared-- and Harry brushed the hair out of her face, his hand lingering on her cheek, which Bridget didn't even remember. It all looked very... intimate.

"Oh_, God_," she repeated. "I should've known better."

Ginny gave her a wry look. "How could you have?"

"Because I _knew _Skeeter was sniffing around for a story. But... I was freaking out a little." She paused. "Or a lot, to be honest. Where's Harry? Does he know about this?"

Neville sat up straighter, finally able to say something productive. "Quidditch stands."

* * *

Harry, unsurprisingly, didn't know what to do. First, there was Sirius's letter. He wanted nothing more than to be able to talk to his godfather about... well... everything, but the man was still a _fugitive. _It just wasn't safe. Then there was that stupid Skeeter article. It was going to be awkward, having to deal with the results.

"Harry?"

Well, it looked like he was about to deal with one of his problems. Bridget sat down next to him, swinging her legs like he'd seen kids do when their chairs were too big for their feet to reach the ground. Maybe she hadn't seen the article.

"So... Skeeter," she drawled. "Awful woman, isn't she?"

Or not. Harry winced. "I'm sorry."

He was, too. He knew better than most how awful it was to be stuck in the spotlight and he'd still dragged her in with him, all because he'd liked how calmly she reacted to everything from Death Eaters to publicity, especially now that Ron was ignoring him.

"About what?" she asked, sounding a little confused. "Are you talking about the article?"

He nodded.

"Harry." She shook her head. "That wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could've done to stop Skeeter from writing something suggestive about you and Albus Dumbledore's niece. Hell, you could've made out with Cedric Diggory right then and there and Skeeter _still _would've somehow made something cutesy up about you and me."

"Really?"

"Really. Most of my friends back home were guys." Bridget shrugged. "Rumors are bound to happen. I'm sure Hermione's had rumors swirling around her being involved with both you and Ron. She only really has you two, after all."

Harry stared at Bridget. Hermione had never mentioned anything even suggesting that. "_What_?"

"Hm, yup. So, are you hiding here just because of the article or is there another reason behind your anti-social behavior?"

"Sirius--"

"Ah!" Bridget interrupted pointedly. She grinned at him. "What are we supposed to call him in public?"

He realized he was smiling back instead of responding and he cleared his throat. "Padfoot sent a response." She held out a hand expectantly, but it took a few seconds for Harry to realize what she wanted. "Oh, right. here."

Bridget took the offered letter, quickly reading it. He swung around so he was facing her, straddling the bench. Her tentative smile darkened into a concerned frown as she finished. "This... worries me."

Wonderful. Harry had been a little concerned, but now he was much more worried. "A lot?"

"Um... enough," she replied apologetically. "For one thing, he doesn't want Remus to know, which means _that _he knows something's not right. And... well... I dunno. There's just something about this letter I can't quite place."

"Something wrong?"

"... no. I don't think so. There's just something nagging at me. Like it's familiar or... I dunno." She gave him a weak smile. "Sorry."

Bridget sounded as tired as he felt and Harry opened his arms. "C'mon."

"_This_ is what's getting us in trouble," she said skeptically. "You know... why everything thinks we're..." Her cheeks flushed pink.

"It'll make _me_ feel better."

Harry gave her a hopeful grin and he could see when her resolve broke. She settled between his legs, relaxing against his chest, and Harry wrapped his arms around her waist. He could feel the muscles in his shoulders loosen up with every breath; maybe the article wasn't such a bad thing.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Ah-ha! I have finally posted. I apologize again for the wait, the next one won't be nearly as long. Please review if you read it.

Thanks to _**itra**_, _**lilyjen09**_, _**sea-princess**_, _**Rushingriver**_, and _**MessyxxxJessy **_for the Story Alert, _**darkxangelx-xo**_, and _**KelseyHalliwell **_for putting this on favorites, _**lilyjen09**_, and _**White Alchemist Taya **_for the review.

_**Next time:**_

_That was so totally not the entire story. Bridget gave Draco a skeptical look._

_"Fine. No one's been bothering me; it's not hate mail. Here." She stuffed the remaining letters in this hands. "Burn them please. Now."_

_Draco glanced down at the pile. He flicked one open curiously. "Is this_... fan mail_?" he asked incredulously, smiling widely._

_Reluctantly, Bridget nodded. "Unfortunately."_

_He took one look at the utter despair on her face and dissolved into laughter._


	16. To Overcome a Dragon

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything from the Harry Potter franchise. So, everything other than my original characters, original plot, and original writing belongs to J.K. Rowling and her minions. Yes, minions. Anyone as awesome as J.K.R. _has _to have minions. Recognized dialogue comes from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, _Chapter 19: "The Hungarian Horntail," pages 317-318._

_**Author's Notes: **_Gosh, this is taking longer than I'd like. Circumstances prevailed yet again. Apologies all around for my lateness.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

To Overcome a Dragon

_"You cannot make yourself feel something you do not feel, but you can make yourself do right in spite of your feelings." _—_Pearl S. Buck

* * *

_

Fan mail. She was getting _fan mail. _Frowning, Bridget stuffed the letters back into her bag. Later she'd ask Remus how she could get rid of them without leaving anything for curious bystanders to get a hold of or unintentionally set something else on fire. But, for now, she felt like she should keep them close by. Just in case.

She took a particularly gushy letter back out, rotating it thoughtfully between her fingers. It couldn't hurt to set _one _of them aflame. She was alone, after all, and outside; chances were she'd be able to keep the fire under control with very little effort.

"What's that?"

Bridget jerked upright, almost falling off the bleacher bench. She glared at Draco and his cheery smile.

"Could you not sneak up on me like that?" she asked crossly.

"Nope," he replied, lips curling into the barest hint of a smile. At least someone was getting some enjoyment out of this farce of a Tournament. "You haven't answered my question."

"It's a letter," Bridget said shortly. Just because he was having fun with this didn't mean she had to feed into it. Then she got an idea. "Hey, Draco, you don't have a tendency to lose control of magically created fire, do you?"

"Not since I was four." He didn't ask why, but the question was implied in his slow drawl and the sudden arch of his eyebrows. She ignored it.

"Do you think you could burn some letters for me? I tend to blow things up. Unfortunately." She paused for a moment. "Remus and I are working on it."

"What is it?"

"Oh." She waved a hand airily. "Just some letters. Nothing important."

Draco's face darkened suddenly and his body tensed, all the lazy satisfaction drained out of his thin frame. It was a startling transformation, to say the least. "No one has been bothering you, have they?"

"What?" Bridget blinked at him, slightly confused. "No, not— wait, that was _you?" _She frowned, unsure whether she was going to strangle or thank him if he'd been the reason people hadn't been harassing her about the article nearly as much as they'd been bothering Harry.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Bridget Ashlyne."

Hah. Full name: he was totally lying. She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she gave him a level look. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. What did you do? If you answer my question I'll answer yours. If not," she shrugged, "oh well."

Draco gave her an appraising, slightly approving look she was getting used to seeing. "Very well. I… may have mentioned that Potter pathetically fancies you and you're too kind to break his little hero heart."

That was not the entire story. She continued to examine his deceptively innocent face before giving up.

"Ugh. Fine. No, no one's been bothering me. It's not hate mail or anything like that. Here." She stuffed the remaining letters into his hands. "Burn them please. Now."

Draco glanced down at the pile, picking at it with one hand. "Is this… _fan mail?" _he asked incredulously. "For dating _Potter?_"

Reluctantly, she nodded. He took one look at the despair on her face and dissolved into laughter. She thought she did quite well resisting the urge to kick him off the bench. That is, until he started reading one aloud.

* * *

The Saturday before the first task was a Hogsmeade day. Bridget had seen the town briefly during the summer, but, as she had been rather preoccupied with adjusting to a world with magic, she didn't remember much. She had already decided to go with Harry or without him, but it would be much better if he went as well.

"C'mon, Harry. It'll help you relax."

He regarded her somberly. Bridget could see as the temptation to leave the castle started to outweigh his desire to be left alone for a few hours and tried not to smile too widely as she propped her legs over his lap, leaning with her back against the arm of the couch. Hermione still looked worried, but the battle was half won.

"What about Ron, though?" he asked, turning to Hermione. "Don't you want to go with him?"

Bridget stiffened and turned to the other girl to give her a warning look. They'd already had this conversation. She thought Hermione's idea was ludicrous and counter-productive. It was never going to happen.

"Oh… well…" Hermione began to blush and Bridget groaned softly, rolling her eyes. This was getting worse by the second. "I thought we might meet up with him in the Three Broomsticks."

Harry's face closed off, the slight bit of hope he'd had slipping away. Great. "No."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione started, shooting a desperate look at Bridget. She shook her head. There was no way she was getting involved in this one. "You're just being ridiculous. This is so stupid—"

Bridget slashed a hand across her throat, trying to convey for Hermione to _shut the hell up. _Wrong move. That was totally the _wrong move. _You don't call _Harry _stupid and expect him to do what you want him to. Hermione cut herself off, sitting uncharacteristically meekly with her hands clasped on her lap.

"I'll come," Harry finally said. Hermione relaxed as much as she ever did and Bridget felt the need to pelt her with one of her beloved books melt away, "but I'm not meeting Ron and I'm wearing my Invisibility Cloak."

Great. This was going to be fun.

* * *

Crowds were not fun to be in when you were wearing an Invisibility Cloak and trying _not _to get noticed. It did, however, give Harry an excuse to walk close enough to Bridget that he would get suspicious looks from Hermione in any other situation. Luckily, she couldn't see him and Bridget either didn't care or hadn't noticed.

"Hey, Jet," a cheerful voice called. Harry looked up from the butterbeer he had been nursing to see Ginny pulling Neville through the crowd. She looked curiously between Bridget and Hermione (which, admittedly, was an odd sight to anyone who knew them). "You said you didn't think you'd come to Hogsmeade," she said slowly, still trying to process what she was seeing.

Bridget shrugged. "I wasn't. Hermione convinced Harry not to wallow in despair in the castle so here I am." Harry rubbed his eyes with his free hand. If she was going to tell everyone he was there, then there was no reason why he should wear the Cloak. Bridget frowned thoughtfully, oblivious to his despair, and took another sip of the half-empty bottle. "We did have to ditch Skeeter a little over a quarter hour back, but we've had no problems otherwise. This Butterbeer thing is _spectacular._"

"Harry's he—"

"Remus!"

Bridget's face lit up, slightly flushed from what Harry assumed was the butterbeer. She smiled brightly at the harried-looking Remus.

"Hey, Rem, what's up?"

"Padfoot's in the country," he said shortly, not looking happy. Harry froze and Bridget let her bottle drop to the table as she paled. Ginny, Neville and even Hermione looked confused.

"Ah, really?" Bridget said in a soft voice, sounding uncomfortable as she fiddled with the mouth of the bottle.

"Yes, really." His voice sharpened. "Did you know about this?"

"Um, yes. A few days. He's supposed to… contact us soon."

"I'm going to kill him," Remus said in a clear, frighteningly relaxed voice that made Harry wince. He seemed… resigned.

"Uh, I'd rather you not," Bridget replied weakly. "It would defeat all of our attempts to keep him safe, wouldn't it?"

Remus sighed. "Just... tell him to owl me."

"No death?" she asked in a light, amused tone.

"Not now, at least."

* * *

It was starting to get late.

"I still don't think it was a good idea," Hermione said stubbornly.

The two girls watched as the last student— an ambitious third year who nearly studied as much as Hermione— left.

"And I still think he needed to go," Bridget replied. "We disagree yet again." She turned a page in the _Prophet, _trying her best to hide her grin. "What a _shocker._"

Bridget ignored the exasperated look Hermione was giving her and continued reading the joke that the Wizarding World called a newspaper. A few minutes later Hermione shut her book, sighing loudly. Bridget flipped the top of the paper down, peering over it cautiously.

"You know," she said with all due caution warranted for any conversation with the other girl, "if you want, you can go to bed. I'm going to wait up for Harry anyways; he should be back soon enough."

"All right," Hermione said after a moment. She gathered her things. "Good night."

"Night."

Now. All she had to do was wait.

* * *

_Dragons._

Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak in the partially lit Common Room. Only the fireplace was still burning, although not quite blazing. It seemed like the girls had managed to clear the room without resorting to Dungbombs, which was a definite plus, but Harry had hoped that—

"Bridget?"

She was fast asleep, _Prophet _clutched loosely in one hand. Harry knelt down next to the couch and gently brushed the hair out of her face. She shifted, making a soft, content noise and leaning into his touch.

Harry froze.

Oh, Merlin. He couldn't.

He pulled his hand back and fell on the floor with a dull thump. Ron had been right, the git. Harry rubbed his face, resting his arms on his bent knees and stared into the fire until it all started to— he blinked.

His face broke into a relieved smile and he crouched near the hearth. "Sirius— how're you doing?"

He looked much better than he had the last time Harry had seen him. He'd cut his hair short and it was clean for once. He'd also gained some weight; he looked like he did in Harry's photo albums.

"Never mind me, how are you?"

"I'm..." Harry'd intended to say "fine" but, faced with Sirius's obvious concern, he found himself blurting out everything he hadn't been able to say in a letter, from the articles in the _Daily Prophet _to Ron's idiotic jealousy and everything in between.

"And the task's _dragons, _Sirius. It's going to slaughter me. And Bridget—"

"Harry?"

Harry turned towards her, but paused when he caught sight of the split-second look that passed over Sirius's face. He'd seemed almost upset... devastated, even, but that didn't make any sense.

"Is that the," even his voice sounded strained, "ever elusive Miss Griffins?"

"Er, yeah." Harry watched carefully as she clambered off the couch and knelt next to him, peering down curiously at Sirius. "Sirius, this is Bridget Griffins. Bridget, this is my godfather, Sirius Black."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she said in a soft voice as she gave Sirius a small, shy smile.

Sirius smiled back weakly. "The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure."

He was giving them a strangely blank look and Harry cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," Sirius started again, sounding more like himself again, "Harry, we can deal with dragons, but I'm afraid I haven't got long here... I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire and they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

Harry's heart sank. There was something more urgent than being roasted by a dragon?

"Karkaroff," Sirius said, answering Harry's question. That was... unexpected. "Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"Yes— he— what?"

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet everything that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year— to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him in Azkaban in the first place."

Harry's brain didn't seem to want to take in another piece of information. It was too much for one night.

"But," Bridget frowned, eyebrows furrowing, "why'd they release him?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry," he replied gently. The dark shadow that haunted his eyes momentarily lifted. He looked back to Harry. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways and then he named names... he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place.... He's not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

"Okay," Harry said slowly. "But... are you saying Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it."

Bridget leaned forward on her hands. "He _was _furious," she said adamantly. "Spitting mad. He did _not_ want Harry to compete."

Sirius looked doubtful, but quickly regained his conviction. "We know he's a good actor because he convinced the Ministry to set him free, didn't he? Now, Harry, I've been keeping my eye on the _Daily Prophet—_"

"—you and the rest of the world," Harry muttered bitterly. Bridget poked him in the ribs, but she was smiling.

"—and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started the night before he started at Hogwarts." Harry opened his mouth to— "Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm, but I don't think so, somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But, that doesn't mean he still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"So... what are you saying? Karkaroff's trying to kill me? Why would he?"

"Harry," Bridget said softly, looking up at him worriedly, "you're the Boy Who Lived."

Right. There was that.

"I've been hearing some very strange things," Sirius said slowly. "The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone set off the Dark Mark... and then— did you hear about the Ministry of Magic with who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?"

"Exactly!" Sirius said. "She disappeared in Albania, and that's where Voldemort was rumored to be last... and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Sure," Bridget said thoughtfully, now pressed against Harry's side, "but how likely is it she'd just happen across a supposedly dead, incorporeal Dark Lord?"

"Listen, Bertha Jorkins was at Hogwarts with me and James. A few years above us. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all."

Bridget nodded. "Easy to trick, then. Painfully easy."

"Precisely, Biddy. And it'd be just as easy to find out about the tournament. Even the bravest of wizards have cracked under Voldemort's methods and Jorkins was not a brave witch."

"So... so you think Karkaroff might be here on Voldemort's orders?" he asked.

"I don't know, Harry. I just don't know... Karkaroff doesn't strike me as the type who'd go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in the goblet did it for a reason, and I can't help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to make it look like an accident."

"It doesn't matter who the villain in this story is," Bridget said, "if that is the plan— and it seems sound enough..."

"Looks like it from where I'm standing," Harry added, grinning humorlessly. It faded when he saw the devastated way Bridget was looking at him. "I'm, er, I'm sure I can get past the dragon."

Her eyes widened and Harry realized that he hadn't told her about the first task. He really did suck at this whole communication thing.

"_Dragon?" _she repeated weakly.

"Right— these dragons," Sirius said, speaking in a rush now. "There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try a Stunning Spell— dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon—"

"Yeah, I know, I just saw."

"Half a dozen?" Bridget looked like she was about to faint.

"But you can do it alone," Sirius said, only sparing a brief, concerned glance at Bridget. "There is a way and it's a simple spell. Just—"

Harry turned suddenly, raising a hand to silence Sirius as he listened carefully. There were footsteps on the spiral staircase behind him. Bridget pushed him onto his feet.

"Deal with it," she whispered before turning back to Sirius.

Harry stood, blocking the fire from the staircase. If someone saw Sirius at Hogwarts.... There was a tiny _pop_ from behind him and a soft, relieved sigh. Sirius was gone.

It was Ron. _Ron _had gotten up at one o'clock in the morning for absolutely no reason, and decided to go for a stroll. Ron had stopped Sirius from telling him how to get pass the dragons.

He stopped when he saw Harry and looked around the room curiously. "Who were you talking to?" he asked.

"What's that got to do with you?" Harry snarled back, inexplicably angry. Ron hadn't been trying to start a fight, but Harry didn't care. "What are you doing down here at this time of night?"

"I just wondered where you—" Ron shrugged. "Nothing. I'm going back to bed."

"Just thought you'd come nosing about, did you?" Harry shouted.

"Harry," Bridget muttered urgently. "Harry, stop it."

"Sorry about that." Ron was bright red with anger. "Should've realized you didn't want to be disturbed. I'll let you get on with practicing for your next interview in peace."

Harry knew Ron hadn't meant it. There was no way he could've known what he'd walked in on, but he didn't care. He took one of the _POTTER REALLY STINKS _badges the Creevy brothers had been trying to fix off of the table and threw it as hard as he could at Ron. It bounced off his forehead.

"There you go," he said. "Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky.... That's what you want, isn't it?"

Without another word, he pushed pass Ron and left.

* * *

Bridget rose to her feet slowly and crossed her arms protectively over her chest, waiting for Ron to come out of his stupor and notice her. It wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

"Nice PJ's, Ron," she said dryly, eyeing the too-short paisley maroon set with some amusement.

He blinked at her as if he'd just noticed she was there. "Harry was with you?"

"Yeah." Well, it wasn't a lie. "You boys really are silly— completely overreacting." She sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. "It must be the excess testosterone of male adolescence."

"So, he... was talking with you?"

"Yes," she replied simply. It probably would be best to avoid using big words with the boy this late at night. "Won't ever admit it, of course, but he's absolutely terrified of the first task. It's dragons, you know." She tried, rather unsuccessfully, to stifle an almost hysterical laugh. "He has to get past _dragons._"

Bridget walked around the couch and gave him a sympathetic look before she turned towards the stairs. Once there, she turned back towards Ron. "I do wish you two would make up already."

* * *

Harry stiffened when he heard the dorm door creak open. He didn't know whether he hoped that Ron would continue the fight— the adrenaline was still burning through his body— or just leave him alone and go to bed. He wasn't sure which would be more satisfying, but when his curtains opened the shadow was much too small.

He watched in amazement as the dark figure crawled in next to him. Bridget curled around him and tucked herself under his arm with her head resting on his chest and her arm over his stomach. She sighed, snuggling closer.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

After all, she'd never come with so little reluctance. It was always because she had to, or it was an accident; she'd fallen asleep or fain— passed out. This was new... and kinda nice.

"I'm okay," she said just as softly. "I just... can't sleep?"

Harry felt a grin tug at his lips. Well, he wasn't going to complain.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Okay. There it is. Finally. Took me long enough, didn't it? The next chapter should be up much, much, much sooner.

Thanks to _**WannaBeNinja **_for putting me on author alert; _**BeenThereDoneThatnotgoingback, iloveebfanfics, Perminatly Lost In Thought, **_and _**mira346 **_for putting _WRF _on story alert; _**iloveebfanfics, SeedsAndMisdeeds, **_and _**Twistyler **_for favoriting _WRF; _and _**dancingqueensillystring, White Alchemist Taya, Iluvdraco55, iloveebfanfics, **_and _**SeedsAndMisdeeds **_for the reviews.

Please review if you read.

_**Next chapter on **_**When Reality Fades:**

_Bridget's hands nervously flattened Harry's robes, brushing imaginary lint off of his shoulders. He grabbed her hands and held them steady until she looked up at him with a crooked smile._

"_You're ready, right?" she asked. "You're completely comfortable with the Summoning Spell and flying? Well, that was a silly question— of course you're comfortable flying, but—k"_

"_Bridget," he interrupted softly, "I'll be fine."_

_He hoped he would be, at least._

"_Right." Her shoulders relaxed minutely. "Of course. You'll do spectacularly." Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Good luck."_

_She pulled back, kissed him gently on the cheek, and went to sit with Remus, leaving Harry feeling more confident than he had in a long time._


	17. Here There Be Dragons

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything from the Harry Potter franchise. So, everything other than my original characters, original plot, and original writing belongs to J.K. Rowling and her minions. Yes, minions. Anyone as awesome as J.K.R. _has _to have minions. _

_Recognized dialogue comes from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, _Chapter 19: "The Hungarian Horntail"._

**Author's Notes: **I am really sorry. I'm trying my best to keep a regular schedule, but life keeps screwing with me and this chapter was surprisingly difficult to write. I have no idea why, but that seems to be the case with any canon-heavy chapter I have to write. I _can_, however, assure you that I will not abandon this. Ever. Anyways, enjoy the new chapter.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

Here There Be Dragons

"_Heroes come along when you need them." –Ronald Steel

* * *

_

Harry looked… different when he was asleep. He was, for once, completely relaxed and at ease, and the change was downright startling. The muscles normally pulled tight across his shoulders were loose like they only ever seemed to be when he was flying and there was a distinct clench to his jaw that was obvious now that it was gone.

When he was awake, it was easy to see the hero instead of the boy. He carried himself with such self-confidence and he radiated such raw power that he was automatically looked to as a leader, a grown man older than he truly was. But asleep, in bed, he actually looked like the sixteen year old boy he was.

Oh, screw it.

Cautiously, she sat up and tried to shift her body away from his, ignoring the slight nip the air held now that she wasn't surrounded by another person's warmth. She had nearly gotten away when he let out a soft sound of protest and tightened his previously loose grip, burying his face against her hip.

Bridget felt herself begin to blush. It was rather… cute.

She ran a hand gently over his hair, feeling oddly comforted by the quiet rhythm of his breath against her skin. It was the first time he'd slept in ages and he was so exhausted most of the time.

She paused and then, hesitantly, she loosened the secure hold he had on her waist, murmuring soothing noises when he started to protest, and laid back down against his chest. Once settled, Harry curled around her again, holding her against his body. God, she wished things could be clearer.

* * *

"Yup," Bridget said rather too cheerily for Harry's taste. She nodded emphatically, ponytail bobbing with the movement. "Dragons."

"_Dragons?_" Ginny, however, seemed more shocked. Her face had gone pale enough that her usually barely noticeable freckles stuck out like they'd been drawn on. "Like the ones Charlie handles?"

"Uh, yeah," Bridget said. "Actually, Charlie's here, although I don't think you're supposed to know that until the task or thereabouts."

Ginny's mouth worked a few more times like she couldn't decide what she was going to say next. She settled on repeating, _"Dragons_?"

"Dragons!"

Harry buried his head in his arms with a pained groan, trying to block out their— and he used the word loosely—discussion. He hadn't wanted to get up that morning, he thought despondently. He had wanted to stay in bed with Bridget curled around him, so he didn't have to deal with Ron's jealousy or the upset Hufflepuffs or stupid dragons, but, no; he'd gotten _hungry. _Bugger puberty.

"Dragons, _really_?"

He really, really should have stayed in bed.

"Yes, Gin, _dragons_."

Harry lifted his head enough so that he could see the two girls. "Stop repeating it," he requested, sounding more desperate than he'd have liked, but it was a desperate time. "_Please_."

"But, Harry," Ginny said, gaping in a surprisingly pretty way. He was almost positive most girls looked rather stupid when they had their mouth open and eyes wide with shock, but Ginny managed to pull it off, "you have to face _dragons_."

"Drag-_on_," he repeated flatly as he felt the last bit of his patience drip away. "It's just the one."

"But how do you know that?" she asked. She sounded rather hysterical as she waved her arms about in what he thought was supposed to be firm emphasis but just nearly knocked over the poor second year sitting next to her. "You could have to face them all at once in some sort of — of death match and the one who survives is the winner!"

Harry stared blankly at her. He was starting to see her resemblance to her mother and Percy. The others seemed to have Mr. Weasley's calm acceptance of dangerous and possibly lethal situations that the other three lacked unless directly confronted with them.

"Dumbledore is not going to have us fight a death match with dragons, Ginny. That would be stupid."

"Have you ever read about the Triwizard Tournament?" she continued in the same somewhat panicked voice. "Students have died before!"

Harry paled. She was right.

"Have you been listening to Hermione's rants again?" Bridget asked. There was a note of severity in her voice that reminded him of McGonagall when she had to speak of Trelawney. "She's bloody hysterical, and you know it. Besides, wouldn't a death match defeat the purpose of the tasks? Harry and the others still have two more tasks after this one. If anything, the death match would be the last task."

Oh, Merlin. Harry groaned again and let his face drop into his hands. He was going to die. That was all there was to it. He was going to be roasted by a dragon and _die _for some stupid tournament that he hadn't even wanted to participate in to begin with.

Bridget ran a hand over his shoulders and along his arms in an attempt at comfort that seemed more habitual than it probably should this early on in their rela— friendship.

"It'll be all right," she said softly. "I'm sure you'll do fine against the dragon, Har—"

"Dragon?" a clipped voice said from behind them. Harry spun around, nearly unseating Bridget in the process, to face a shocked and dismayed Hermione. "You have to face a _dragon_?"

Harry sighed. He wasn't going to tell anyone anything ever again. Everyone except for Ron seemed to freak out at the slightest hint that he might get mortally injured. It wasn't like it would be the first time.

* * *

This was a first. Bridget had no idea where she was supposed to look. If they'd been back at home, it wouldn't have taken her very long at all to find him; she knew his habits nearly as well as her own or Davy's. But… this was Hogwarts, not Honolulu and— and she wasn't sure she really knew him anymore.

"Jet?"

Oh thank God. She turned to Benjamin's voice, a relieved smile spreading across her face when she caught sight of the boy sitting under the tree. For a moment, everything was normal again and she was at home and all she had to worry about was the ridiculous rivalry between Ben and Nate, but then she remembered everything, her heart sinking. He scrambled to his feet, eyes wide as stared at her like she was about to bolt.

"Hey, Ben," she said in a quiet voice, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Hey," he replied just as awkwardly. The silence stretched on with Ben staring at her. He seemed to expect her to start yelling at him— which was, honestly, a valid fear considering her temper. "Is there something you wanted?"

She gave him an arch, surprised look and he flushed an embarrassed red. "Not that you need a reason, of course, but I just…" He sighed and his shoulders straightened so he looked like his typical self, not this unfamiliar, nervous boy she'd found. "It shouldn't be this weird," he said in the same confident, sure voice that _everyone _seemed to use when they didn't deem information proper for her.

"Yes, well, _everything's _been a bit weird for me, if you hadn't noticed," she snapped, her voice sharper than she would've liked. His face fell and he stepped forward as if to physically keep her from leaving, but stopped a step away, just out of reach. The old Ben was gone again.

"I'm sorry," he said, the desperation apparent in his eyes if not obvious in his tone. "I didn't know. I swear to God I _didn't_ _know_."

And she believed him. Bridget felt her annoyance subside. "I know. I just… this is all a bit much for me."

"Right. Of course it is," he said, relieved. "Did you want to," he gestured at the patch of grass he'd been occupying, "talk or something?"

She shook her head. "No, I have to find Harry pretty soon. He went to look for Cedric."

"Oh," Ben said in the same tone he used when he had to talk about Nate. He cleared his throat. "Right."

"There's nothing wrong with Harry," she said softly. The thing between him and Nate was normal, even expected. But Harry was new and, well, she'd grown up with Ben and his opinion mattered to her. She just… she didn't understand him sometimes.

"No. I know he's a good guy."

Things were awkward again. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the tree, shoulders slumping. He looked so… defeated and it made her feel guilty, even if she didn't know what exactly she'd done wrong. Why did everything have to change?

Bridget brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I just— Harry saw the challenge for the First Task." Ben's gaze snapped back to her face, suddenly sharp. "It's dragons."

"Dragons?" he repeated, although at least he sounded like he believed her.

She nodded. "Yeah. Swedish Short Snout. Welsh Green. Chinese Fireball. Hungarian Horntail."

"Okay," he said after a moment. He tugged at the knot in his tie. "Thanks for telling me."

"No problem."

She gave him an uncomfortable half-smile and turned around to return to the castle. At the last moment, she changed her mind and spun back towards him, launching herself into the familiar circle of his arms. It was comfortable, normal and for a second she wished she could stay there.

"I'm sorry, Ben. I'll cheer for you, okay? You'll do great; you always do."

His grip on her tightened just a bit and he pressed a quick kiss on the crown of her head like he and Dave had taken to doing when she'd been in the third grade and prone to running to them with her problems.

"It's okay," he said softly. His voice dropped to a level she was sure she wasn't supposed to be able to hear. "This is how it's supposed to be."

* * *

Bridget didn't seem too pleased with his idea. She stared blankly at Harry as the seconds ticked by and he started to feel increasingly stupid and idiotic with every passing moment.

"The summoning charm?" she repeated, bringing an end to the silence and his worried train of thought. At least she wasn't calling him stupid instantly; she was taking the time to make sure he was. "To get your broomstick? To _fly _against the dragon, which is born flying?" Harry reluctantly nodded; this really didn't look that great for him. He'd _thought _it was a pretty good idea at the time. Then her face lit up. "Oh, Harry, that's _brilliant._"

Now he was the one staring. He felt like he'd been unexpectedly pushed off the Quidditch stands, although he supposed it was better than her completely tearing the idea apart (as she'd already done with several others he'd come up with; between her and Hermione, it was a miracle he had any sort of self-confidence left). "It is?"

"Yes." She smiled brightly. "It's unexpected and cleverer than just using magic and _really _original and it uses your best skill — Harry, you're an absolutely genius flyer — and all you need to do is…" She cocked her head to the side as she started to fiddle with her pen again. "Um, love, you're rubbish at the Summoning Charm. Seriously, you nearly killed Flitwick with a desk in class. It wasn't pretty."

"Right." He attempted to grin, but the result only made Bridget's mildly concerned expression turn into a downright startled one. "That's where you and Hermione come in, I'm hoping."

* * *

"In review, all you need to do is remember how it feels to summon an object as you cast the charm. Considering what we already know about your magical ability when you actually deem something important enough to stop wasting your intelligence and do your homework properly, it shouldn't be that difficult for you to extend the charm back here to the castle. I do think that we should place your broomstick near your window — I don't think we have to worry about anyone moving it before the task — but your," Hermione sighed here, wondering why she was friends with people so obsessed with a silly sport, "attachment to the object in question should make it even easier for you to summon it. So," she concluded rather nicely in her opinion, "now all you need to do is get some —"

Oh, blast. Hermione frowned at the pair, crossing her arms over her chest. Perhaps she'd gotten a bit too caught up in her concluding lecture, but it really hadn't been _that _long; it certainly hadn't been long enough for her to have put them to sleep, although she supposed that it could have something to do with it being nearly three o'clock in the morning.

Bridget must have fallen asleep before Harry, as the girl was stretched out along the couch, her head laying on an overlarge pillow on Harry's lap and her hand on his knee. For his part, Harry had his hand resting on Bridget's waist and was snoring softly. Well, at least Harry would get some sleep that night — Hermione conjured a couple of blankets over them — she just hoped that they'd wake up before the other Gryffindors did, or maybe the increase in rumors would help the couple open their eyes and get on with it.

* * *

His stomach was in knots. Harry poked at the mashed potatoes Bridget had heaped on his plate, really wishing that he could manage to eat some of the food. He used his fork to move the carrots from one side of his plate, around the potatoes and under the chicken to the other side. It wasn't fair that he wasn't able to enjoy his last meal.

"Potter." Harry jumped. That was just pathetic; he hadn't even noticed McGonagall coming up to him and he normally had a much better sense of when teachers were near. "The champions have to come down onto the ground now." She paused, her lips flattening just that minute bit more that meant she was upset about something. "You have to get ready for your first task."

The Hall was abnormally quite. Suddenly, Harry was thrown back to the night his name had come out of the Goblet and it was not a good feeling. He didn't like having everyone watching him like this, no matter what Ron thought.

"Okay." He got to his feet and turned back to the girls to say good-bye, but found the words stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. Instead, he gave them a weak grin.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione whispered so the others at their table wouldn't be able to hear. "You'll be fine."

"Harry?"

He turned towards the voice, forced to face a now extremely worried-looking girl. Bridget was pale and quiet, her lips drawn into a worried frown. She looked up at him before her gaze dropped again and she started to nervously flatten Harry's robes, brushing imaginary lint off of his shoulders. He grabbed her hands and held them steady until she looked up at him with a crooked, worried smile.

"You're ready, right?" she asked. Abruptly, Harry became aware that every other person in the Great Hall was trying to listen in on them. "You're completely comfortable with the Summoning Spell and flying? Well, that was a silly question — of course you're comfortable flying, but —"

"Bridget," he interrupted softly, "I'll be fine."

He hoped he would be, at least.

"Right." Her shoulders relaxed just a little. "Of course. You'll do spectacularly." Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Automatically, his arms wrapped around her waist and he tried not to stumble at the sudden weight.

McGonagall cleared her throat pointedly and, blushing, Bridget pulled back. She regarded him solemnly for a moment before she seemed to have second thoughts, leaning forward and kissing him gently on the cheek. "Good luck," she whispered as she took a step back, avoiding his somewhat astonished gaze.

"Come along, Potter," McGonagall said, taking him by his elbow and guiding him away from the only person who had managed to make him feel calm and confident in a long time. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would've said she'd sounded amused, but this was McGonagall.

* * *

"Sorry."

Next time he was going to come on time, regardless of what Sirius — the great pillock — wanted. Remus would've thought that after over twenty years, he'd be able to refuse to carry through a ridiculous plan, but it still took him a half hour to even build up to a 'no'.

"Ow!"

Remus winced. He still wasn't used to having his younger body back and—combined with the recent full moon—his sense of space was completely wonky. He gave the fifth year girl an apologetic smile as he tried to pass.

"Pardon me."

"Hey!" …and he managed to nearly fall into the lap of an annoyed second year. Wonderful. One year they're his students and afraid of his detentions or extra homework and now he's suddenly one of them again and subject to their sub-par glares.

"My apologies," he said as he scrambled to get his balance back. "Excuse me."

With a relieved sigh, Remus sat in the place Bridget and the others had managed to reserve for him, ignoring the glare he was receiving from the seventh year who had been sitting next to Bridget before he'd arrived. Remus was used to that sort of thing, after all; it had come with being friends with James and Sirius — none of the other lads at Hogwarts who were in their right mind had ever thought they could steal a girl from one of the popular Gryffindors, but that didn't mean they didn't try to enjoy sitting next to the pretty girl instead. And, as usual, neither Bridget nor Ginny had even noticed.

"I haven't missed anything, have I?" he asked, raising his voice loud enough to be heard over the general noise of the crowd.

She gave him a tired smile and shook her head. "Nope. You'd know if it'd started, don't you think?"

"Why would you say that?" he asked slowly, hoping that she was just having one of her omniscient moments and hadn't neglected to tell him something yet again. She didn't usually do it on purpose, but one day it was going to get her hurt.

"Oh, um, crap." So much for omniscient. "Hey, Gin," she turned and poked the other girl in the side, "did you tell Remus about the task?"

"No. Neville?"

"Um, no. I thought you would."

"What's going on?"

Bridget sighed and turned back to Remus. She was looking at him the same way she did when she'd accidentally exploded something or let the pixies loose again. It was not a look that boded well for Remus.

"Well… I sorta forgot to tell you, but, um," she gave him a sheepish smile, "here there be dragons?"

Remus let him head fall into his hands, wondering if he'd even be able to watch Harry go up against a dragon, let alone record it for — oh, _bollocks_. Sirius was going to murder him.

* * *

Bridget sat anxiously in her seat, fidgeting with her too-long sweater sleeves every few seconds. She was pretty sure if she had to wait for much longer she was going to start hyperventilating. Of course, Harry and Ben had to be last; it just wouldn't be right if they were able to have the easy dragons or at least get it over with right off the bat. They had to be the freaking heroes in the production. _Typical._

Diggory, golden boy of Hufflepuff and Hogwarts, had already nearly been incinerated after his silly dog trick and Krum, well, he hadn't gotten hurt but he had caused the destruction of all those dragon eggs, and they'd only been up against the Swedish Short-Snout and the Welsh Green. Bridget didn't know who was going to have to go up against the Hungarian Horntail (probably Harry, considering his luck), but whichever boy was going to be the death of her.

The whistle blew a third time and Bridget's breath stuck in her throat. Slowly, a figure emerged from the champions' tent in dark blue champion's robes. It was Ben.

The dragon stopped sniffing and suddenly seemed to notice him. It let out a deafening roar and smoke curled out of its nostrils. The scarlet creature shot towards Ben, slicing through the air as if it were an eel in water rather than flying in the sky. The boy dived behind a grouping of rocks just in time, the force of the dragon passing close enough that Ben was knocked over.

"_Oh_," Bagman's voice sounded throughout the stadium, "close call there. Hart might want to be a little more careful."

The dragon huffed again and a short burst of fire shot out. It hovered over Ben's hiding place until it seemed to decide that he wasn't a threat and went back to its nest. There, the dragon curled up over its eggs like a cat and settled back down, unconcerned.

"What's he doing?" Bridget muttered frantically, eyes wide as she watched Ben crouched behind the rocks, intent on something on the ground. "Remus, what's he doing? Please tell me he has plan. What's going on?"

"I don't —"

A growling roar reverberated again, but this time it didn't come from the Fireball in the nest. A silvery shape rose from Ben's hiding place and formed into an even larger Fireball than the one he was battling. This one, however, had an even more elaborate pattern on its back and face, the fur-like mane around its neck darkening to a deep gold as the rest of its body turned a metallic scarlet.

The stadium went silent before the crowd went nuts. He'd conjured a dragon. Ben had _conjured _a dragon. And… it was _working._

"A beautiful piece of spellwork from Hart. That's a clever ruse, there. And it looks like the Fireball is buying it."

The actual Fireball looked up at the other dragon, tilting its head curiously. As Ben's dragon snaked higher and higher in the air, the Fireball seemed to get more interested. Eventually, it rose into the air and went up after the conjured dragon.

All the while, Ben was slowly making his way over the eggs, his eyes on the dragon's progress and his wand held up in what looked like a painfully difficult attempt to keep up the spell. Once the dragon had nearly reached the conjured one, Ben took his moment when he could and dove to the grab the golden egg. He got it just in time, rolling away as the dragon swooped down and almost grabbed him in its claws. The dragon handlers rushed out and quickly subdued the creature as Pomfrey and Gwen made their way to Ben.

"Very good indeed!" Bagman shouted over the excited cheers of the crowd. "And now for the judges' scores."

* * *

She knew she should find Harry — she was so happy he was okay and he didn't have many people who were completely there for him — but she'd spend the rest of the day with him and she needed to do this first. Sometimes seniority did beat out.

"Benjamin?" Bridget pulled the curtain to the side. "Are you okay?"

Ben nodded, frowning down at the paste spread across his arm. "I'm fine. Just a little singed." He looked up at her guardedly. "How'd Potter do?"

"He did well. Ben…" She faltered slightly.

"I'm fine, Jet." He looked back up at her, concerned. "Really. I'm fine."

"It's…" she said in a soft voice. Bridget found herself stepping closer to him, needing to be reassured that he really was okay. "God, Benjamin, you scared me. Do you do this a lot?"

He grinned at her, his old personality leaking through again. "Not anymore than Potter does."

"That's really not reassuring," she said quietly, brushing the hair out of his face. "Please try to be careful, okay?"

"I can do that," he replied. "Can't promise that everything'll turn out right, but I can try for it."

Bridget sighed and examined his face for all the hints she was used to searching for. He was smiling, but it was a little… strained, just enough for her to be able to see, and there was a glint of determination in his eyes that was all too familiar. Wonderful.

"You know, I really should've become friends with nerds. It's so much easier to deal with people who are always stuck in the library or in front of their computer. I wouldn't have to worry about a _nerd _going off and trying to save the world."

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Alright. That took long enough, didn't it? I'm not completely happy with it, but it wasn't getting any better and I'd made you all wait long enough. Anyways, I do hope you enjoyed it, although I'd appreciate it if you would tell me what you liked or didn't like. Please review if you read.

Thanks to: _**rodeogirl1203**_, _**SamanthaLB**_, _**ObsessedandRepulsed**_, _**Lov3good**_, _**Felis Lupus**_, and _**AdaraBlackPotter **_for putting _WRF _on Story Alert; _**MerlinGarwin**_, _**scrockangel**_, _**Whitestar2000**_, _**Luna'sTwinMarriedToFredWeasley**_, _**Lov3good**_, _**PJOnHP**_, _**Felis Lupus**_, _**AdaraBlackPotter**_, _**Aurelius Salazar Lucretius**_, and _**JeanMarie09**_ for adding _WRF _to their favorites; _**Coquettish **_for adding me to their favorites; and _**SeedsAndMisdeeds**_, _**Luna'sTwinMarriedToFredWeasley**_, _**Lov3good**_, _**White Alchemist Taya**_, and _**PJOnHP **_for reviewing.

_**Next chapter on **_**When Reality Fades:**

_God, it was cold. Bridget sometimes missed Hawaii where it was always nice and warm and the rain didn't feel like bloody _needles _falling on her instead of water like _normal _rain should feel._

"_Wh-what d-d-do you wa-want?" she managed to say around her chattering teeth._

_Xavier gave her an arch look. He sighed and shrugged off his jacked before swinging it around her shoulders. She tried her best to look cross, but she really was cold and she'd probably catch her death just like her godmother often said because she had never been able to—_

"_Love, you really need to learn to wear a coat," Xavier said quietly, tapping her nose as if she were a small child. She resisted the urge to snap her teeth at his finger._

"_I'm f-fine."_

_He sighed. "You're not fine, but you will be once you get inside and warm. How'd Harry do?"_

"_Good," Bridget replied. Her teeth had stopped chattering as the warming and drying charm Xavier had placed on his coat took effect. "Tied with Ben."_

"_I should've known he would've gotten involved in this." He rubbed his face with his hand and Bridget glared at him until she could see his eyes again._

"_Don't — don't start that now," she said as firmly as she could manage. "There's nothing wrong with him."_

"_I know." He gently tilted her face up to him, his gray eyes sharp as he examined her. "Now, love, how are _you _doing?"_


End file.
